Love Remains
by Dark Vorona
Summary: After the war, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and their families were supposed to live happily ever after. What happened? Eventual SS/HG.
1. Reconciliation

Author's Note: Many thanks to Cozy for the first reading of this. Also, I have replaced the original version with one that has the italics done correctly for this format. Sorry for any distractions in the previous version.

Chapter One: Reconciliation

"I don't think I can do it anymore, Hermione," Harry said, looking straight into her eyes. "I thought things would be different after the war."

"They are different, Harry. That's the problem."

Hermione sat across from Harry at her favourite corner table at the Blind Eye pub in Muggle London. She'd chosen the place originally for the fact that it wasn't too far from Diagon Alley and the wizarding world, but kept coming because of the bartender. There was something about him that seemed comfortable, familiar. Maybe it was the way he smelled of patchouli and sandalwood, or the fact that he never spoke. Or maybe it was how he seemed to know exactly when to bring out the really good beer. Like today. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn he'd laced it with a Cheering Potion.

"Yeah. The things I wanted to change didn't. The things I wanted to stay . . ."

She knew he was thinking of Ginny. "She'll be back. I know it seems -"

"Did you know she was sleeping with someone?"

Hermione took a long swig of her beer. "No, I didn't know she was seeing anyone. But it's Ginny! You know she always -"

"Do you know who she was seeing?"

"No." Hermione couldn't figure out why it would be important. Unless it was Draco Malfoy, of course, but he seemed happily married and even happier to avoid anything that would remind him of the past.

"Luna. Luna Lovegood." Hermione nearly spilled her drink. "I don't think she's coming back, Hermione."

Harry's eyes looked out into the distance. Hermione noticed he hadn't even touched his drink.

"She said she was only staying with me because she wanted a family, but she was tired of waiting." He paused again. Hermione knew they'd struggled over Ginny's lack of a child. They'd tried magical and even Muggle fertility treatments, but to no avail. Harry continued. "But how could she keep such a big secret from me! I never even knew she liked women. She should have known I would never have judged her for that! And she's been cheating on me with Luna for who knows how long! Maybe even before . . ."

He took his first drink of the beer, and Hermione watched his eyes brighten slightly, then narrow. "I don't trust this place," he said, setting the drink down firmly. "You shouldn't come here anymore. The bartender gives me the creeps."

"You're just being paranoid," she said, laughing, hoping to jar him out of his mood. "This is a normal pub in London, and it's not like we're defenceless." She let the end of her wand extend slightly from where she had it concealed in her sleeve.

He took a deep breath. "You're probably right, but there's something strange about this beer, almost as if it's been spiked or something."

"You're just used to butterbeer," she said, deflecting her own thoughts away from the suspicion she'd had earlier about the Cheering Potion.

"Maybe." He lapsed into silence again.

Then, he spoke. "I wrote to Ron, but he hasn't returned any of my greetings. That was before Ginny left. Do you think he knew?"

Hermione sighed. "He hasn't written back to me either, so I don't think that's it. He probably hasn't even talked to Ginny, either. Too caught up with his Quidditch career. I wish I'd never Confunded McLaggen-Ron has turned into his double."

Harry's eyes widened. "He's your husband! Why wouldn't he write to _you_?"

"It's just a piece of paper. I never see him anymore." Hermione felt her eyes swell with tears, so she gulped down some more of the beer, frantic that maybe it would have some Cheering Potion in it. She needed to be strong for Harry now. Then, she took a deep breath. "Not that it's all that surprising. I mean, really, what did we have in common? A troll in first year?" She shook her head. "He was always into Quidditch and I, I was always into books."

"I guess." Harry looked out into the distance again. "How did it all go so wrong? We won the war; we're supposed to have happy lives."

"It doesn't work that way, I guess."

"Well, it's not fair. I sacrificed everything, everything, for love, for this life, and this is what I get? Snape, Narcissa . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but they were more honourable than the people I trusted." He looked sheepishly at Hermione, "Except for you, of course."

She waved his words away with her hand. "Sirius was right all those years ago, Harry. People aren't just good and evil. They're all shades of grey. We just do the best we can with what we have."

"And what if what we have is nothing?"

"Harry -"

"I'm done here," he said rising. "I'm going to talk to Ron."

He was to the door before she knew it. "Harry! You don't have nothing! You have me!"

The door slammed and he was gone. Hermione sat down again and ordered another beer. She usually only had one, but she didn't know what to do about Harry. Or Ron. She knew she should be happy with her situation. She'd never really been a romantic sort, keeping her eyes on her schooling and career, and things with Ron had just sort of sprung up on her. It was all confused, almost like she hadn't had a choice in liking him, and then he just disappeared into Quidditch one day. It had happened gradually - first, he started spending his tours away to give her time for her research, and then he'd moved into a flat closer to the home field, and she'd been so caught up with her new job at the Ministry that she hardly even noticed, until one night after a game, they'd had sex, and the next morning they couldn't think of anything to talk about because their lives were so different. At least it wasn't like what Harry was going through. There was no betrayal; they'd just slowly moved apart. She still loved him dearly, but he wasn't a husband anymore. A tear slid slowly down her cheek. He wasn't even a friend anymore.

A third beer appeared before her, as if out of nowhere, but she shooed it away. Two was more than enough. She took a deep breath and headed back to Diagon Alley. From there, she could Apparate back to her house.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Ron was there when she arrived.

"Hermione!" he said, running to catch her in a big hug. _He's trying too hard._ After her conversation with Harry and her thoughts about Ron, she didn't feel like hugging him, but she did. "We won! We're going to the championship!"

"That's great, Ron," she said, trying to muster enthusiasm. "Did you talk to Harry?" she asked. "Or Ginny?"

He backed up, finally aware that something was wrong. "Well, I got a letter from Harry last week saying he wanted to talk to me about something, and Ginny wrote yesterday saying she had news." A grin spread over his face. "Don't tell me - did they do it? Is she pregnant?"

"No, Ron," Hermione said, hating to be the one to say it. "Ginny left Harry. The last time I saw him was about an hour ago. He said he was headed to talk to you."

"Oh, well, I didn't go back to my flat. After the game, I came straight here. Why did she leave him? I mean, they've always -"

"She left him for Luna Lovegood. Apparently, they've been having an affair for quite some time. Did you know Ginny liked women?"

"Luna? I've always known Ginny had odd taste, but Luna?" He looked back to Hermione. "And no, she never told me about that, but I suppose I could have seen it if I'd looked. I mean, she's always been a bit of a tomboy, you know. But wow, Harry. That's really got to hurt. And what am I supposed to do? I'm her brother and his best friend! They're both going to want me to take sides!"

"Just tell them both what you think. You know, be honest. And supportive. You don't have to take sides if you don't want to."

"Yeah, I guess." He tousled his hair in obvious frustration, and Hermione decided to change the subject.

"So, what brings you here? I haven't seen you in about a month, now."

"I know, Hermione. I've been thinking." He moved closer, looking seriously into her eyes. "I never meant for it to happen like this. I still think about you all the time. I want to try, to try to be a better husband. I was wondering if you'd mind if I moved back in. With what's going on with Harry and Ginny, it's even more important to me."

Hermione swallowed. She hadn't expected this. Tears escaped finally in a steady flow, and she grabbed Ron to her, hugging him as hard as she could. "I - I'd like that," she managed between tears. "I never meant for it to happen either. I want-want to be a better wife, too."

Their lips met. Hermione lost herself in the kiss and did not know how they ended up in the bed. Ron had a devious look on his face before speaking. "I think I've transgressed, Professor Granger. I think you'll need to punish me." He had always called her by her maiden name in these games, but they hadn't played them since their honeymoon.

"Yes," she said, feeling her own eyes twinkle in anticipation. "I think I do." She was about to start getting creative, when the signal of someone Flooing suddenly went off. Both of them hurried to dress, but they weren't quite fast enough. The door to the bedroom opened right as Hermione realized her shirt was on backwards, and Ron hadn't got his shirt on at all. She didn't even want to know what her hair looked like, and hoped desperately that it wasn't someone she would care about impressing.

"Hermione," came Harry's voice from the doorway. "Ron isn't -" He stopped, seeing the very man before his eyes.

Hermione felt herself blushing. "He came home," she said, simply.

"Hi, Harry," Ron said, smiling stupidly.

"I - I should leave." Harry's voice was strained as he backed out of the bedroom.

"No, wait, don't go." Ron moved to intercept him. "I haven't been the best of friends lately. I'd like to make it up."

"But Hermione's -" Harry looked at her significantly. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Go on, Harry, talk to Ron. Ron and I can continue later." She smiled what she knew to be an evil smile at Ron and watched him shiver in anticipation. Things were going to be okay.


	2. Too Many Bludgers

Author's Note: Thanks very much to Cozy for the first read of this. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Two: One Too Many Bludgers

The next day, Ron had a Quidditch match, and Hermione was going to go. She'd stopped going to his matches around the same time he'd moved out, since she never seemed to know the schedule of the matches and hadn't bothered to find out. But, if they were going to fix their marriage, she had to put in more effort. And she did want to fix the marriage.

Harry was going with her, and he seemed to be in slightly better spirits. His talk with Ron had apparently gone well, and Hermione was glad that Ron had managed to stay friends with Harry despite what was going on with Ginny. She hoped he could stay friendly with Ginny, too. As for herself, she was just glad she and Ron were going to make it work, and that the three of them were still friends, even after all these years.

Harry and Hermione arrived early and found seats near the Montrose Magpies' goals, where Ron would be. She wondered how he felt about playing against the Chudley Cannons. He'd wanted to join their team, but they'd flatly refused in a manner reminiscent of the Malfoys. He'd been stung ever since, but decided that the Magpies were better anyway.

She did not have much time to think about it: the players suddenly zoomed into place and the balls were released. Even with her husband as a professional player, Hermione still had trouble following the game. It always seemed so pointless to her: why bother with the quaffle when nine times out of ten, the team catching the snitch would win? She remembered Ireland's victory at the World Cup just before her fourth year, but that was unusual. Usually, seekers held off if they knew their team wouldn't win. But, Ron loved the game, and she was happy to support him. Especially if it could help him appreciate her research. They could make this work.

In the middle of the game, the quaffle headed right toward Ron, but a bludger was smacked that way as well. He made the save, but the bludger hit him right in the forehead. Hermione gasped, standing up. Harry grabbed her hand, but stood up as well. Ron's flying became erratic. Hermione had seen a lot of Quidditch games, but she'd never seen a professional player fly the way Ron was flying. She wanted the game to end. It was no game to her anymore. She didn't realize she was moving until she felt resistance on her wrist, and even then, it didn't fully register.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice struck her out of her fixation. "We can't go down there right now! A game is in progress. We'll catch up with him later."

"He's in trouble, Harry!" she said, but knew he was right. Even if she could get to him what would she be able to do? "Look how he's flying!"

He'd left the goal posts altogether and was flying nonsensically around the stadium, weaving around seemingly at random. The Cannons had scored six times already in the time since he'd been hit by the bludger. Finally, a whistle blew. For Hermione, it was way too long. She started moving again, but Harry stopped her again.

"Hermione, let them sort it out. We'll see him as soon as the game is over, I promise. Maybe sooner."

She took a breath. Once again, he was right. But it maddened her to see her husband clearly in danger and not be able to do anything about it.

The captain of the Magpies flew up to Ron and guided him down to the ground. Then, a different Keeper rose to take his place. The two captains had some kind of argument with the referee, and three of the goals that had occurred during Ron's strange flying were discounted. The score was now tied, 30-30. The rest of the game, Hermione could barely keep still. She knew Ron was still down there somewhere because there was nowhere else for him to go with the game still going on. Suddenly, a hand touched her arm. She looked to see one of the Medi-Wizards from Saint Mungo's.

"Are you Mrs. Hermione Weasley?" he asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Do you by any chance know how many times your husband has been hit in the head with a bludger?"

She shook her head, feeling suddenly guilty for not having followed his Quidditch career more. How could she not know of his injuries? But the Medi-Wizard did not seem to blame her. "Come with me, then."

Hermione looked to Harry, but he just nodded, obviously worried himself. Hermione followed the Medi-Wizard down the bleachers and out of the Quidditch pitch. Ron was seated next to another Medi-Wizard, near one of the emergency broom transports. His head was bobbing, and he was playing with some object in his hands. It was just a rock, but he kept calling it the Snitch and congratulating himself on catching it. "I'm not a Seeker," he said in a sing-song, "but I've caught the Snitch! I'm not a Seeker, but -"

"Ron," the Medi-Wizard said gently, touching his arm. "There's someone to see you."

Ron's head swivelled to look at Hermione. "You're pretty!" he said, and reached out a hand to touch her hair. "Such pretty curls!"

Hermione leaned in closer. "Do you know me, Ron? It's me, Hermione!"

"Do you want a present?" he asked instead of answering her. He held out the rock. "It's a Golden Snitch! I'm not a Seeker, but I caught the Snitch!"

"Ron!" she said more urgently, but at the sight of the Medi-Wizards' faces, she closed her mouth and looked at them questioningly.

"We're just waiting for the Captain of the Magpies," the first one said. "He'll know how many bludgers your husband has taken to the head, and then we'll have some idea on what to do next. He will certainly have to be hospitalized for awhile, but I wouldn't worry yourself yet."

"What do you mean about the bludgers?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't one be bad enough?"

"Well, see, sometimes this doesn't happen with the first one," the second Medi-Wizard said. "Sometimes the bludgers hit the head but don't cause this kind of reaction. But it accumulates. Then, when one does trigger this reaction, all the others come into play. So, if he only took the one bludger in his head, he should be healthy in no time, although I would definitely recommend he seek a different career."

"But if there's more, it would be worse?" Hermione asked.

The two Medi-Wizards nodded. At that moment, a loud cheer went up from the Quidditch pitch, and a ragged man emerged. "Where's my best Keeper?" he asked, and Hermione recognized him as the Captain.

"Ron, my boy," he said jovially, clapping Ron on the back. "What happened out there?"

Ron displayed the rock. "I'm not a Seeker, but I caught the Snitch!"

The Captain's face fell. "No," he gasped.

"Do you know how many times he's been hit in the head with a bludger?"

The man scratched his head. "Let's see, there were 4 the first year, then after that . . ." His face fell. "Thirteen. I'm sure of it."

The Medi-Wizards exchanged a glance. "You're absolutely sure?" the first one said. "No mistake?"

"No. I keep records of all injuries sustained by my players, and it's definitely thirteen. I confirmed the number with the records just now." Hermione wondered what records he was talking about-she couldn't see anything-but the Medi-Wizards seemed to take it for granted.

The first Medi-Wizard turned to Hermione. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he said, his tones heavy with sorrow. "Thirteen is a lot of bludgers to have dealt with. If it had been less than ten, there would be a chance, but I'm afraid the damage is permanent."

"No," she said, not believing it. They'd finally started getting back together. "No, there must be some mistake." She turned on the Captain. "You added some, you must have! Someone else took those bludgers, and you just think it was Ron! Check your records again!"

"I'm afraid the number is correct."

"NO!" She balled her hands into fists and began to hit him, but without much force behind it. "No, we were just getting back together, I had a surprise planned for him, you have to be wrong!"

He grabbed her hands. "Mrs. Weasley, you must contain yourself."

At that moment, Harry appeared. "Oh, Harry!" she cried, running to him and burying her head in his chest. "Ron, he, bludgers, permanent, NO!" Harry absently stroked her hair, then turned to the two Medi-Wizards. They nodded in deference. "Mr. Potter, how may we help you?"

"What's wrong with my friend?" he asked, indicating Ron.

"Too many bludgers to the head. He has permanent brain damage. We'll be transporting him to the Spell Damage ward now."

"Permanent?" Harry asked.

"Thirteen!" Hermione heard herself wail. "If there were less than ten, it wouldn't be permanent!"

Harry's face went white. "No," he whispered, then aloud. "Not Ron, too."

"I'm going to do research!" Hermione said, suddenly terrified that Harry was going to leave. "There's got to be something that's been overlooked, and I'll find it!"

Harry smiled slightly, but she could tell there was no joy behind it. "You think they haven't done all they possibly can? You think you're going to have time for this kind of project with everything you need to do for your job?" He shook his head sadly. "No, Hermione, even if you do find something, it will be forever before it actually takes effect."

The Medi-Wizards were getting Ron into the conveyance part of the emergency transport, and soon after that, they prepared to leave. The one who had come for her stepped up to her before departing.

"Mrs. Weasley, I will personally inform you as soon as your husband is given a room, and you will be able to visit any time." He turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, you are always welcome as well."

A scowl crossed Harry's face as the man turned away. "He's only saying that because of the war. I never asked for special treatment." Then, he turned to her. Something seemed to be working in his head, and his eyes were gleaming, almost unnaturally. "Hermione, can I come visit you at work on Monday?" The words were fast, his voice excited.

"Sure, Harry, of course!" It would be good to have some company her first day back. And maybe he was realizing that he hadn't lost everything. She took a deep breath of relief. The thought of losing Harry on top of Ron was just too much. "We can even go out to lunch, if you'd like."

"Yeah, sure, just . . . I'll be there Monday!"

And moments later, he had sped away.


	3. The Department of Mysteries

Author's Note: First off, thanks very much to Cozy for the first read. Also, I replaced the original version of this chapter with one in which the italics actually work! I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Three: The Department of Mysteries

She spent the rest of the week at in the Great Research Library in Diagon Alley, right across from Gringotts. Her brain was buried in details of bludger-born mental illness for the rest of the afternoon on Saturday until the sun went down on Sunday. It was time she knew she should have spent on Time, her field in the Department of Mysteries. She was working on recreating the Time-Turners, as well as studying the effect of time on events and individuals through Arithmancy.

When she was done researching bludgers, though, she had no mental energy left over for Time. And her last two reports had been more detailed than required and early. If this one was a little late, it wouldn't matter. She wasn't going to leave Ron in his state forever.

Monday dawned too bright too early, but she'd promised Harry she'd see him, and she needed all the friends she could get, even if there really was just the one. She dressed quickly, but professionally, and Flooed to her office ten minutes early. She liked the time to reacquaint herself with her material and environment, and she considered it the main reason her reports were never late and usually early.

Today, though, she had trouble focussing. Every time she started to work on her research, new questions about bludgers and mental illness kept popping up. She was beginning to try concocting a Concentration Potion right then and there when a knock came on her office door.

She opened it to see Harry. Was it really already lunch time? She looked at the wall clock and rubbed her eyes. No, it could not really be two o'clock in the afternoon. She'd only read two or three chapters! And she had to read other books by the end of the day!

"Hi, Harry!" she said, managing to feel brighter despite her lack of progress.

"Hey, Hermione." Harry's voice was low, and his eyes flitted around her office as though looking for eavesdroppers. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, of course!" She opened the door wider, then closed it after he had entered.

"Listen, I need to ask you a favour. A big one." He took a deep breath.

"Sure, anything, Harry, you know that." Already, though, she was beginning to feel nervous. She had thought he wanted to come visit her because he needed a friend, but what if it were her job that brought him here?

"It's just - with what happened with Ginny, I, well, I remembered something Luna said to me once." He paused, then spoke in a rush. "She said she could hear them, her mom, the dead, behind the Veil, and that there had to be a way to talk to them. Maybe if I could talk to Sirius . . ."

"Harry, you have no idea what you're asking!" Hermione was alarmed. "I'm not assigned to Death, of course, but there's enough I know! It's amazing we didn't die when we went there all those years ago!"

A new glimmer lit Harry's eyes. "Maybe . . ." he said, almost wistfully.

"No you don't! Not now, Harry Potter!" She found herself pointing her index finger and abruptly stopped. He didn't need to be lectured. "Listen, you aren't alone. You have me - but if you go, I'll be alone! I can't lose you now, Harry, please don't say you want to die!"

"Yeah," he said, giving her a weak smile. "You're right. I don't want to lose you, either. I don't want to die. I just want . . ."

"I know." She did. They'd already discussed this.

"I need to try to talk to Sirius."

"Harry." She put a note of warning in her voice. "I'm serious. After being here and working with other Unspeakables, I know more than I did when we were fifth year students at Hogwarts. That Veil is dangerous. I don't know all the details, of course, but I think that hearing the voices is one of the main dangers. I wouldn't feel right taking you there."

To her surprise he nodded. "Actually, though, that's why I'm here." She was confused. "I thought about just going, you know, with my cloak, the way we did. But I thought it might be dangerous, and that it would be better to be accompanied. I have to know, Hermione. I have to know if Luna was right, if I can talk to Sirius . . ."

He was telling her that if she didn't take him, he was going to go on his own. She nodded. "Alright. But first, I do need to get something to eat. I had no idea it was this late!"

: : :

Harry followed Hermione to her lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, his mind on his new goal. He was going to talk to Sirius. Hermione had agreed. He didn't know yet what he was going to say, but things had been so much simpler when he'd had Sirius to talk to. He could make sense of his life. Sirius had gone through much worse than he had: imprisoned in Azkaban knowing it was one of his friends who'd put him there. Surely he would be able to give some guidance to Harry on how to live with what he had now. He took a deep breath and drank some pumpkin juice as Hermione filled her mouth. She was right. He did have her. And if he were gone, she wouldn't have anyone. But she had her work . . . Surely she could make friends at work? It was different for him - even after all these years, people still deferred to him, and he never knew if they were really friends or just hoping to get something from him, even if it was just influence. The way he'd died and come back to life didn't help at all.

A new thought occurred to him: he'd died and come back to life! Maybe he knew some of the secrets of Death now! He'd never thought to be anything other than an Auror, but if he were an Unspeakable, like Hermione, and if he were assigned to Death, maybe he could research ways to bring people-Sirius, Dumbledore, even Snape-back to life. It was probably as forbidden as the other ways of attaining immortality, but it would be out of love, it would be good, not evil. And it wasn't like he wasn't used to breaking the rules . . .

Hermione was done with her lunch, and she stood up suddenly. "Alright," she said, clearly nervous. "Let's get this over with."

He followed her to the phone booth entrance of the Ministry. She announced herself as Hermione Granger and Visitor on an Exploratory Trip. Their buttons popped out, and they headed down to the Department of Mysteries.

"You promise you're not going to go through the Veil?" she demanded as they walked through the corridors. "That you'll let me pull you out if you start looking too obsessed?"

"Of course!" He smiled back at her, not entirely sure he was telling the truth. He didn't really want to die, but it would be so much easier than this life. He knew Hermione would be appalled if he voiced those thoughts, and he looked at her again. She was successful, whole-she had her work, which was one of the things that had mattered most to her. She was so much stronger than he was, even if he did manage to kill Voldemort with love.

Soon, they were back in the room with the circling doors. Hermione unerringly stood before one of them and muttered an incantation he couldn't hear. She followed it with an apologetic look, and he understood. He wasn't (yet) allowed to know the spell. It must be reserved for Unspeakables. The door opened, and he found himself back in the chamber with the Veil. It looked so plain: just an arch with a veil fluttering over it. He still didn't know how Sirius could have died from it.

Harry approached the archway slowly, aware of Hermione behind him. He knelt before it, bending slightly. He could hear the voices, but couldn't make them out. Luna had said she'd heard them, too. Luna. He felt his face darken: the woman who had stolen all thoughts of a happy life from him. Then he took a deep breath. If it hadn't been Luna, it would have been someone else. Ginny wasn't able to have a family with him, so there was no point in continuing the charade. And it wasn't Ginny's fault she liked women. What was her fault was allowing him to believe they had something more than they did. He took another deep breath. It was probably good she had decided to stop pretending. It didn't change the fact that he still loved her, though.

"I love you."

The voice was feminine and startlingly clear. He tried to look closer, but all he could see was the fluttering veil.

"Who are you?" he whispered, but the voice didn't return. Was it his mother? Should he say he loved her back? Was it just a trick? Where was Sirius?

"Right here."

Joy spread through him as he recognized his godfather's voice. "Sirius! I can hear you!"

He felt, rather than heard or saw, a flash of movement behind him, but he ignored it. Hermione soon came to kneel near him, and he could tell without seeing that she was curious about what he was hearing. Could she hear it, too?

"The one she wants to hear from is not dead." Sirius again.

Harry looked at Hermione then, surprised. Who did she want to hear from that wasn't dead?

"I don't hear anything, Harry. Just the Veil."

"I have a message from Sirius," he said to her. She looked doubtful. "He said that the one you wish to hear from is not dead."

Now, a look of surprise crossed her face. "Not dead? But-"

"Who?"

She furrowed her brow, then shook her head. "Never mind, it's not important. I'm here for you."

"Right." He knew better than to try to get a secret out of Hermione when she was intent on keeping it. He still couldn't believe she hadn't told him about the Time-Turner in third year! A worry crossed his mind then: maybe he wasn't cut out to be an Unspeakable after all. He'd always had people he talked to about things-he didn't really keep secrets very well. That was probably an important part of the job.

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror."

That was Dumbledore, and Harry felt tears rush to his eyes. He'd come planning to talk to Sirius, but now Dumbledore was there. He hadn't expected to face that loss as well. He knew he should have, but-

"I did, but-"

"Quieter!" Dumbledore's voice seemed almost to be pained. "Speak in your mind. . . when you speak aloud, it sounds like shouting, and we all have to retire a bit."

_Oh,_ Harry thought, without speaking aloud.

"Much better! Now, about being an Auror?"

_Well, I've realized that maybe the fact that I can talk to you and that I came back from being dead might mean I might be suited for the Department of Mysteries. I was thinking of asking Hermione for a reference. I have nothing else to live for._

"Nothing?" It was the woman's voice. "Are you going to come home, then?"

There was something strange about the way she said "home", and it reminded him of the strange memory Dumbledore had showed him of Slughorn. It was twisted or wrong, somehow. The fluttering of the veil increased, and the voices became muffled and frantic. He could no longer pick out any words; instead, it reminded him of the buzzing of bees.

"Harry." There was a warning in Hermione's voice, and he felt her hand around his elbow. "I think it's time-"

"No! Something important is happening, I know it!" He couldn't explain his compulsion, but he had to hear what they were saying. What did the woman mean about home? It seemed extremely important. He tried to brush off Hermione's arm, but to no avail.

"Harry!"

"Shh!" He turned to face her, suddenly angry, suddenly aware that it was her presence that had made the voices quiet. "If you talk aloud, it sounds like screaming to them! That's why I can't hear them anymore!" he hissed at her. A part of him tried to tell him that his comment didn't make sense, but he no longer remembered that the buzzing sound happened before Hermione spoke. All he knew was that she was preventing him from talking with the people he loved.

"Harry, look!" He looked into her eyes. She was really worried. But it was silly - there was nothing to worry about.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, nothing," she said, biting her lip. "But a moment ago, the Veil was blowing so violently that it almost covered you."

He realized he couldn't even hear the buzzing sound anymore. They were gone.

"We'll always be here." It was more of an echo than a voice, but it penetrated into the deepest level of his heart.

"Well it didn't," he said. "Can we come back tomorrow?"

Her face saddened. "I can't, Harry. I've spent too much time away from my work as it is, and I still need to research bludger-induced madness."

He nodded, understanding. He would have to risk coming without her. But now that he'd heard them, he knew they were real and that they weren't dangerous. He iwould/i come home, he realized-this was home. Sirius, Dumbledore, maybe even his parents-who else could the woman be besides his mum-they were all here! He no longer had a home with Ginny, but he had a home here.

"Thank you," he said to Hermione. "I really appreciate the time you took out of your day."

"Anytime, but just not every day." She smiled at him. "You are my best friend, after all!"

"You're mine, too," he said, returning her smile, and hoping it looked more sincere than it felt.


	4. A Memo and a Cloak

Author's Note: Thanks to Cozy for the first read! And thanks to Very Small Prophet for the advice concerning Hermione's original actions in this scene. I do think people like Mr. Wicket would continue to allow Harry more leeway than they should.

Chapter Four: A Memo and a Cloak

After her visit to the Veil with Harry, Hermione had been on edge. What Harry had said, and how he had acted really alarmed her. She did not know much about the Veil, but she did know that it wasn't as innocent as he seemed to think it was. The way his eyes had glittered as he sat there, just watching the Veil, bothered her, but it was his reaction to her that really worried her. He was completely unaware that he had almost been sucked into the Veil, and he'd been angry at her for speaking! She was worried he might come back on his own, and had regretted not being able to take him again the next day, but she could tell it would become an obsession if she didn't act quickly.

As soon as she got back to her office, she notified her supervisor that the Veil room was in danger.

"Nonsense," Mr. Wicket said. "We have top security. They'd have to get past the room with the Spinning Doors and we are the only ones who know the Charm. They'll just be stuck there forever if they try anything."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's not . . . not exactly true."

The man looked up at her.

"Do you remember when, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showed up at the Ministry all those years ago?"

Mr. Wicket nodded.

Hermione went on. "There was a whole battle in the Hall of Prophecy. We were even in the Veil room. None of us knew the Charm, but the doors still eventually opened. We just couldn't guarantee which door would open. But we got in. And the person who I think is going to attempt it, well, he was there with us."

"I always forget that you were actually in the thick of things. To think you'd settle into a quiet job like this . . . " Mr. Wicket rubbed his chin. "Hey, you don't think it's _him_, do you? Not Harry Potter?"

Hermione decided not to correct him about how fascinating her job was (it was anything but quiet, to her), and watched as his blue eyes bulged.

"It is, isn't it? You think Harry Potter is going to try to get to the Veil room! Well, he must have a good reason for it. He's an Auror now, you know. Well, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for bringing this to my attention, but you are fully absolved of all responsibility."

"No, you don't understand, Mr. Wicket -"

"I do, I assure you. You are such a stickler for the rules. I appreciate that you're willing to follow proper protocol, even though it's a good friend of yours. You do not need to convince me: you did the right thing. Now, you are free to return to your work."

It was a dismissal. Hermione wasn't going to get anything more out of him. Once again, she thought about how Professor Snape had always been right about Harry. Everyone always gave way to him, and one day, it was going to kill him. _Not this time,_ she vowed. She also realized how frustrated Harry must have felt when Professor McGonagall hadn't believed that the Philosopher's Stone was in danger way back in their first year. She felt exactly the same way, except that instead of breaking rules, she was following them, and it was her supervisor who was ignoring them. And he thought all she cared about was sticking to the rules!

As soon as she got back to her office, she asked to receive any news of Harry Potter. Normally, people weren't alerted when visitors came to the Ministry. But now, if he came, there would be an automatic memo that contained the same information as what would be on his badge. It wasn't the same as actual security, but Mr. Wicket made it clear that no extra security would be forthcoming. And there was no one else she could ask for help on it. They'd just go to Mr. Wicket, and he'd tell them it was no big deal, that Hermione Weasley was just being a stickler for the rules again.

That settled, she thought about the other thing Harry had said. Although she wasn't trying to contact anyone from beyond the Veil, she had been thinking of someone - someone she knew for certain _was_ dead. She had almost told Harry who it was, thinking that it would make him realize that the voices could not be real. But she just wasn't sure how he'd feel if he knew she was thinking of Professor Snape. Harry's feelings about him were still so conflicted. The love he'd shown for Harry's mother coupled with his role as a spy and his harsh teaching methods meant that Harry gave him a lot of respect, but also that he was not particularly comfortable thinking about him casually. Hermione had decided that it was best to just leave that alone. Harry was dealing with enough complications as it was. Setting that on the backburner, she dove back into her work, trying as hard as she could not to let distractions - Ron, Harry, Professor Snape - keep her from it, and eventually she finished one of the books she'd planned to read. She added a few notes to her research, and set the book down.

After eating and brewing several doses of Concentration Potion, she spent the evening back at the library, trying to find more information on bludgers, and occasionally looking through a book that might have something to say about Death and the Veil. As she had expected, though, most of the useful information was under magical lock and key in the Death wing of the Department of Mysteries. She might have to petition for some information. As an Unspeakable, she could be trusted to take the information seriously, even though Death wasn't her field.

: : :

Tuesday was even worse than Monday. First, not only was she just a little behind on her project after the week-end's bludger research, but she'd lost most of Monday as well, thanks to Harry's need to talk to Sirius. Secondly, her sleep had been fitful, interrupted by sights of Harry going into the Veil and Snape commenting on her long teeth. The Veil was really bothering her. Even though she hadn't received any memos about Harry, she was certain he was going to find it again. She remembered what he and Ron had told her about his obsession with the Mirror of Erised in his first year, and this time, there was no Dumbledore to remind him of the value of life. _I have to be Dumbledore_ _this time._

Dumbledore's ability to protect Harry from the Mirror was partly due to his knowledge of people wasting away. Hermione had to find out more about the seductive nature of the Veil, and she had to somehow convince Harry that she was right. He wasn't an eleven-year-old boy in awe of the first great magician he'd ever met. Still, she knew she should get some of her own project done. She spent an hour on Time and, satisfied with her progress, headed to the Death wing.

She flashed her Unspeakable medallion to the receptionist.

"How can I help you?" the witch asked.

"Admittedly, it's for a personal project, but I was wondering if I could talk to someone about the Veil or look through some books. I am using this time instead of my lunch break, so it would only be for about an hour." She would just scarf something down later, while working on the Time project.

"Let me see . . ." The woman was just flicking through pages, when a memo came flying at Hermione. She glanced down at it, heart sinking: Harry Potter for Conversation.

"Never mind," she said to the receptionist, and fled back down the hallway. She headed out into the hallway and down to the room with the spinning doors. She got there as soon as she could, hoping that Harry would be stuck there, not knowing the right spell, but he was nowhere to be found. She did not know for sure which room he had ended up at, but considering his obsession with the Veil and what she knew of its properties, she had to check there first. Other rooms were just as dangerous, though, and she hoped desperately she wasn't wrong.

She wasn't wrong. But she was too late.

The Veil was swinging in the wind so violently that she was surprised to see it was still somehow attached to the arc, and a pile of cloth lay rumpled at the base. She recognized the cloth as Harry's invisibility cloak, but Harry himself was nowhere in sight.

"NO!" she wailed, wanting to rip the Veil from its place. As she approached, she realized she would die herself - _Would that be so bad?_ - but, the only way they could counteract the Veil's power was through study - study here at the Ministry by the Death Unspeakables. If she tore it away from the arch and it got loose . . .

"Harry!" she called, hoping he could hear her, that against all odds, he was just hiding somewhere in the room, but all she heard was an echo: Harry!

But then she heard his voice from the Veil. "I'm home, Hermione! I'm really home! You should come . . ."

She clapped her hands over her ears, feeling tears spring to her eyes. As much as she wanted to hear his voice, to believe he was happy, it was a trick! She backed away slowly, bending down to scoop up the cloak, then fled back to the spinning room, back to her office . . .


	5. The Blind Eye

Author's Note: Thanks to Cozy for the first read! Hope everyone enjoys this. Also, let me know if the parts where Snape is explaining what happened is too much of an infodump.

Chapter Five: The Blind Eye

"I'm taking the rest of the day off," she said curtly to her secretary, and headed to the Blind Eye. When she arrived, she headed straight for the bar.

"I'd like some fi-some whisky, please," she said when the bartender appeared.

His eyebrow crooked, but he placed the glass before her. She noticed a smirk hovering around his mouth. Did he recognize her as the woman who'd refused a third beer just the other day? She took the glass and drained it instantly. Could it have actually been firewhisky? "Another," she said, pushing the glass toward him.

After he filled it, she lifted it, and made a toast. "To Lily and Severus, whose sacrifices were for naught." Bitterness filled her. How could Harry go into the Veil, after all the sacrifices that had been made to keep him alive? She downed the glass. If it wasn't firewhisky, it sure tasted like it. She pushed the glass toward the bartender, but she found him looking at her curiously.

"I assure you, I'm fine," she said, tapping the glass.

"Right," the bartender said, and refilled her glass, slower this time, and looking at her carefully. As he set the glass down, his left sleeve slipped, and she saw a sight she did not think she would ever see again.

Her eyes met his. "I know some people with a-a tattoo like that," she said, glancing down. A brusque movement, and it was gone. But she knew she'd seen it.

His arms were crossed over his chest. "Why are you toasting these people? Lily and . . ."

"Severus?"

"Yes."

"Well," Hermione felt suddenly exposed. She hadn't seen the Dark Mark in years, but this man was a Muggle barkeep, right? Still, she remembered her suspicions about the Cheering potion and Harry's feeling that the bartender was "creepy". "They sacrificed themselves, they died for someone who has committed suicide." She felt her tears well up again. "He threw it all away, and now I have no one left!"

"Hermione." The word was whispered so softly she wasn't sure she heard it. She looked up again, but the grey eyes she'd come to know were now black.

A shiver of fear passed through her. "How-?"

Instead of answering her question, he filled her glass and poured one for himself.

"I hear everything in this bar," the man answered, and Hermione looked up into grey eyes again. "The man you were with the other day, the one you called 'Harry', he said your name."

But why had his eyes changed to black? And surely, the Dark Mark meant something. A line of coincidences stretched before her, and without thinking, she blurted, "Private. We need to go-"

He put his finger on her lip. "Later," he said. "I have work to do." A slight gesture in his now-black-again eyes encompassed the whole tavern.

"Right," she said. Then, lifting her glass, she said, "And this one's for you."

A lip twitched, but he said nothing and did not refill her glass. She was glad.

: : :

When the last customers finally stumbled out of The Blind Eye Tavern, Hermione was surprised to find she was still awake.

"Well, Miss Granger," the barkeep said, "shall we retire to my chambers?"

She nodded, aware that he could not have learned her surname from any of her conversations with Harry. And the fact that he called her "Miss Granger" and not "Mrs. Weasley" meant he either knew about Ron's condition or did not know she'd been married . . . or chose to ignore the fact. He bent over and grabbed a dusty old bottle, then gestured for her to follow him.

He led her up a rickety old staircase, full of cobwebs and steps that shifted or moaned, but they reached the first landing without incident, and he led her down a dark hallway until he reached Room 29. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. "After you, madam."

She was barely able to enter the room-a film of dimness hung over it and seemed almost to prevent entry. Besides that, books and clothes-wizarding robes and Muggle attire-lay strewn in piles along the floor. Empty plates and glasses perched on any open spot, and the air inside reeked of must and alcohol. She turned to the barkeep, only to find herself looking into the face of a ghost.

"I thought you were dead."

Severus Snape closed the door behind him. "Of course I am dead. My obituary was a particularly mindless piece of offal, but it exists, and that is all that need be known. I'm now Samuel, barkeep at a tavern that sits uncomfortably close to, but not within, the wizarding world."

He set the musty bottle on the only open space on the counter over the sink and, magically procuring a Muggle corkscrew, opened the bottle. Hermione's eyes grazed over the other alcohol bottles. "Are you sure-"

A glass appeared before her, and before she could continue, her old professor poured nearly black red wine into it. "You'll be wanting that."

She hesitated while he poured himself a glass and drank down half of it.

"Profess-"

"Call me Samuel."

"Severus," she chose instead. She knew he was no longer a professor of anything, but no matter how he had escaped into the Muggle world, he could not deny his identity any longer. He winced at the name and took another long drink of the wine, but did not correct her. "Why?"

"Why, what? Why did Harry kill himself? Why did I choose to let my death speak for me? Why did I survive? I thought I'd at least taught you to stop asking such stupid questions." Another drink of wine and his glass was empty. He poured himself another, and looked pointedly at hers, still untouched.

She took a small sip. "Well, si-Severus, I know you cannot answer the question about Harry, and besides, I think I probably know more of the reason than you do, since he had talked to me about it beforehand, and I know the dangers he was courting. So, you-why . . . why all this?" She gestured to his apartment.

"You must have known I wouldn't have died of a snake bite of all things. Even if I'd had assurances that Voldemort-yes, Voldemort-would never let his snake bite me, I would never have been foolish enough to believe them. I've carried an antidote to Nagini's venom for as long as I knew she existed. Surely, it is not all that surprising that I survived. In fact, I'm grateful that Voldemort chose that method of ending my life. It allowed me to live while seeming dead. I have been able to leave my ghost behind, and live a new life."

"You've hardly been successful in leaving your ghost behind. Look around! This is not the abode of a living man!" She took a longer drink, revelling in the intoxicating taste of the wine. "This is elf-made, isn't it?"

"Yes."

She wondered briefly if she should continue drinking it, knowing it was produced by slaves, but at a look from Snape, she realized he was testing her. She took another drink and was rewarded with an eyebrow quirk.

When she had finished her glass, he poured her another. She turned back to him. "So, you welcomed the bite. Did Voldemort know you would survive?"

"No. To the end, he was as arrogant as ever, perhaps more arrogant than ever before. And he chose a method of killing me that was convenient to him, that did not require his presence, and that he thought would be particularly humiliating. For him, life was a series of hierarchies - he was at the top, having achieved "Pure-bloodedness" by killing his father, and thus superior to other Purebloods, who merely inherited the title. As I also killed my Muggle father, that was one of the main reasons I was so high in his regard. Animals, like Nagini, were below even the foulest of "Mudbloods" to use the disgusting term. To be killed by one would have, to him, been the greatest humiliation. For me, a Potions expert, it was the best I could have hoped for."

They sat in silence for some time. There wasn't much for Hermione to say to that, and Severus did not seem to want to elaborate. She could guess the rest anyway: he'd been a Death Eater at the end, and she'd seen the "trials" that had condemned the rest of them. How could he have expected Harry to take up his cause, even with the memories he'd provided? "He planned to name a child partly after you," she said.

"Who did?"

"Harry. One of the names he considered when Ginny was trying to conceive was Albus Severus."

"Albus Severus." The man barked out a scoff and took another drink shaking his head. "I always knew he was daft, but that's just pure torture."

Before she could resist it, a chuckle escaped from Hermione's lips. It grew into a full-blown gale of laughter. The man sitting across from her quirked the corner of his mouth, but did not join her in laughter. Hermione grasped for the bottle of wine as her glass was empty, but Severus' hand snaked over and held hers to the table.

"How much have you had now?"

Hermione's mind went back, but things were all blurry. She knew she'd had some whisky, and then wine, but how many . . . that was a little fuzzy. And all of a sudden, she felt all of it rush to her head. It was too heavy for her, and things seemed to be out of focus. She pressed her hand against the table, and rose, unsteadily to her feet. She was headed for the door, but for some reason, her hand wouldn't leave the table.

"You are in no state to leave."

Hermione tried to see the shape of black before her, but the effort was too much, and she fell to the floor. "Ron . . ." she murmured before the world went black.

: : :

Severus Snape glowered at the limp female form lying on his floor. Then he glared at the rest of his flat. She was right. This was not the dwelling of a living man. But he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to being a living man. Half-dead was a much more comfortable state.

Still. He couldn't just leave her lying there on top of the daily Muggle newspapers. The sofa would have been the best option under normal circumstances. But circumstances hadn't been normal since . . . well, ever. And now, he simply did not have the energy to clear it off, and he wasn't about to use magic. He was far too inebriated for the focus required for any spell, even the most basic. The only other option for Hermione was the bed.

He stepped around her, and lifted her into his arms, then deposited her on his side of the bed; the other side was covered in clutter. He didn't feel like clearing that up, either.

Hermione taken care of, Severus had to deal with his own situation. Now that his guest was stretched out over his side of the bed, he had nowhere to sleep himself. And sleep was what he relied on to continue his comfortable half-dead existence. But just as he couldn't leave Hermione sprawled on the floor or on top of the junk on the sofa, he wasn't about to sleep there himself. And he still didn't have the energy, or clear-headedness, to take care of the mess. Well, there was one thing he could do. With one arm, he flung everything off the sofa and onto the floor. There. That would have to do.

But first, more wine.

As he drank, he thought about Hermione Granger. He'd gotten used to her coming to his bar for a beer once in awhile. Once he had learned her routine-she always came on Fridays-and favourite table, he started leaving a "Touch-me-not" spell on it to keep it clear for her until she came. It was nice knowing another magical person who wanted to visit a Muggle pub. But then, she'd brought Potter, and it had brought up all the old memories. Still, he hadn't meant for the boy (Potter would always be a boy in his eyes) to off himself.

And he still didn't know why he'd done it or why he, Severus, even cared why. His glance strayed to the sleeping woman. She was out of place here among the bottles and junk that littered his flat. She should be in an office, one that was meticulously kept, the one she probably worked at. He scratched his head. Come to think of it, he had no idea what she did for a living. He'd heard some news about her wedding to the Weasley boy, but he'd ignored it. So, why wasn't she home with dear husband, instead of crashed on her ancient professor's dirty bed?

He downed the rest of the wine, as obviously, there would be no answer to that question until she awoke, and then crashed onto the sofa.


	6. Devil's Gambit

Author's Note: Thanks again to Cozy for the read! Also, as of this chapter, things begin to get a little darker, morally speaking. If you like clear-cut good and evil lines to be maintained, you might get a little uncomfortable with the next few chapters. I think there's enough in the actual books to justify this blurring, but such quandaries aren't really highlighted as such (for example, no one seems to blink when they Imperius the goblin). As a result, I've changed the rating to M. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter Six: Devil's Gambit

Hermione awoke to a painful throb behind her eyes. As she opened her eyes, she was hit with the glare of . . . dark blinds. It wasn't actually that bright where she was, but the way her head was pounding, it sure seemed bright.

Where was she? She struggled to a sitting position, and her eyes lit on the worst mess she'd ever seen. _That's right. Professor-Severus._ But as she looked around, it became clear that the flat's main occupant was no longer present. There was, however, a glass of something dark and putrid sitting on the kitchen table. She wrinkled her nose and approached. Hangover Potion. As expected. Next to it was a note, but as she bent to look at it, her head began to swim. Right. Hangover Potion first. She downed the vile concoction just as she'd seen Ron do countless times, in one long gulp. It coated her throat and somehow tasted like rotten eggs and mud. She gagged several times after setting it down, tears coming to her eyes. But at least the headache was receding.

Once she felt a little more stabilized, she checked the note.

_Hermione-_

_Had to go out to stock the bar. Be back soon._

_-Samuel_

She knew that his choice to call her "Hermione" was a perverse desire to avoid the Weasley vs. Granger situation, but it still surprised her. More surprising was the warmth she felt at reading it. No. She didn't have time to start going mushy over a former professor of hers. Besides-she checked her watch-she was going to be late. Quickly, she penned a response, then headed as fast as she could to Diagon Alley and Flooed to the Ministry.

She spent the rest of the day on her projects for the Department of Mysteries. _"_If I can learn how to make new Time-Turners," she muttered to herself at one point, "I'll have plenty of time to study Ron's illness and the Veil, and perhaps go back in time and keep Harry from going through it!"

When she got home, she went straight to bed, not even bothering to clear up her flat. Before she knew it, a month had gone by without cleaning it. And then a year. She did not make a single trip to the Blind Eye pub.

: : :

Severus Snape glowered at the far corner table that was still empty. It had been empty every day for the past year, but he still put the "Touch-me-not" spell on it. He never knew when the bushy-haired witch might stop in, looking for a touch of Muggle charm. But of course she wouldn't look for it here now; she knew it wasn't really a Muggle bar.

He knew he'd left rather prematurely, but he'd made sure to charm the Hangover Potion to alert him the moment she drank it. Then, he'd found a new flat with a lower level that could serve as a bar in a moment's notice, if needed. Although she had seemed kind, it wasn't in his nature to trust anyone who happened to seem kind. And in her eyes, he was probably a wanted criminal. He had no idea why he'd foolishly allowed her to penetrate his disguise, but now, he had to remedy the situation. Still, he did not want to turn his back on the one show of kindness he'd received in years. When he'd come back from his errands, he hadn't been surprised to find her gone, nor had he been surprised at the contents of the note she left: "Late for work, gotta go. Later. Mrs. Weasley."

Even though he knew her signature was a direct response to the fact that he'd signed himself "Samuel" rather than "Severus," he was still irritated that she continued to maintain the tie to Mr. Weasley, a man Severus had never thought suited her.

He was surprised, though, when she did not appear at her usual table at all the rest of the week. After a month, he realized she had no intentions of returning. Even so, he cleaned his flat and attempted to make something more lifelike out of his life. He began subscribing to Potions journals again and started experimenting with variations, particularly of antidotes, even taking over another of his own inn's rooms, number 28, into a lab. He'd found a couple of obscure buyers under his alias, Samuel Sangfroid, and he was sure his label _Venom's End_ was sold primarily on Knockturn Alley. Still, it was nice to do something . . . magical . . . again, and for once, he did not have to worry about wars, legal issues, or madmen. Magic was no longer a weapon in his life. It was simply magic.

He began receiving _The Daily Prophet_ and _The Intrepid Magician_. It wasn't long before he realised that Miss Gr-Hermione had thrown herself into her work. She'd been strangely absent from the lamentation of the century, Potter's Wake. He, too, had not gone, preferring to honour the other man's death in a quiet solitary fashion. He'd never really _liked_ the boy, but his memories of Lily would never let him remain indifferent. The boy could have been so much more. . .

It was strange, he realized, that he no longer thought about Lily as much as usual. In a way, she'd quietly faded from his mind after hearing that Harry had died. He wondered if perhaps the life of the boy had kept the memory alive, since he was trying to protect him for her sake. Silly. Now, it was Miss-Hermione who had to suffer because of his death. If what Hermione had said was true, Lily actually welcomed Harry to death, if one could actually believe the whispers of the Veil.

_The Daily Prophet_ also reported that Hermione Weasley had donated a tremendous sum to establish the Weasley Centre for the Prevention of Bludger Damage-a joint centre held between Saint Mungo's and the International Quidditch Society. That explained why she'd come to the Blind Eye after Harry's death instead of seeking comfort from Ron. But it didn't explain why she hadn't returned.

From _The Intrepid Magician_, hed'd learned that she'd obtained not just one, but three, new patents respecting her work on the field of Time. No details were provided, of course, due to the confidential nature of her work, but it was impressive progress for the space of one year.

Still. He'd expected to see her. Or be arrested for his crimes. But neither had happened. Why he cared, he did not know. All he knew was that every time a night went by without her presence, he found himself more irritable than usual. And when he got up to his flat, he'd spend a few more moments cleaning it up before diving into his reading, and then a few glasses of his favourite firewhisky. As a result, his temper shortened, but his flat stayed spotless and his mind remained sharp.

The day she did show up, his temper was at an all-time low. He couldn't even bear to see her. He tossed his apron to his apprentice bartender and ducked out the back. His hands trembled in furor, but somehow he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. He kept up his glamour of Samuel by taking another shot of his Know-Me-Not potion, a nice variation of the Polyjuice Potion that required a picture instead of hair, but that could not be used to impersonate a real individual. Either way, Tom seemed suspicious.

"Whacha doin' here, Samuel?" the man asked, before setting a glass of firewhisky in front of him. Severus realized that a Muggle should not have been able to see the entrance. He should have gone somewhere else. Tom continued, "Dontcha have yer own place to run, now?"

"Just taking a breather," Severus replied, taking a deep breath and commanding his hands to still.

"Not checking out the competition?"

Of course. If Samuel were a wizard, as Tom now knew, wouldn't he want to attract magical clientele? And his bar was not all that far from the Leaky Cauldron. Severus allowed a modicum of tension to leave his shoulders. "No," he said. "We serve a different clientele."

"So we do," said Tom. "But do we?"

"I assure you, I have no intention of competing with you. I have my own reasons for seeking a life in the Muggle world. I have no desire to bring magic within it."

"I see." Tom turned his back on Severus, and began to serve other customers.

Severus wondered why he was here. _She_ had come back to _his_ bar, and here he was running away. It wasn't like she had shown up with a brigade of Aurors, either. He was being a coward. He downed the firewhisky, and headed out.

: : :

Finally. Hermione had finally finished the first stage of her Time-Turner project, and she finally allowed herself more than a night's rest. Night meaning the time she spent actually asleep. Finally, she allowed herself some spare time, and she'd gone to the first place she could think of for comfort: The Blind Eye.

She wasn't going to take a whole vacation, of course, not until the whole project was done, but instead of going to the library after work for more research, she figured she could indulge in a beer. And maybe some conversation? She glanced around, but did not see Severus-as-Samuel anywhere in sight. At least her favourite table was vacant, so she made a beeline for it as soon as she entered.

In moments, a younger man, someone she did not recognize, arrived at her elbow to take her order. "I'll have a beer," she said, then added, "Where's Samuel?"

The man looked around. "That's odd. He was just here. Did you want me to find him for you?"

"No." Her spirits dropped, but she tried not to show it. Obviously, it was good she hadn't returned sooner. He clearly did not like the imposition of the Wizarding World onto his Muggle sanctuary.

"Don't worry. I'll serve you with the utmost precision. Even though he's not here, he'd never allow anything less."

Hermione felt her lips try to smirk. No, she knew that Severus would never allow anything less. But she kept her thought to herself, and began to sip at the beer. When she had finished her beer, she stood to leave, not really sure why she had come in the first place.

"Leaving already?" The voice was directly behind her, and although it was a tenor-pitch, and not the bass she would have expected, Hermione was not surprised to see Severus-as-Samuel standing there, holding her coat.

"I thought you left," she chided, feeling peevish that she'd come all the way out here on her afternoon off, only to find him gone.

"I came back." She felt a rebuke in his voice. Had he been waiting all this time? No, not Severus Snape. Still . . .

"So did I."

"And?"

She sat down again. "I'd like to stay."

He sat across from her and slid his hand toward her. When he lifted his hand, a key shone in the dim light. Looking closer, Hermione saw the number 28 etched on it. "You're welcome to this room anytime. And as for my own room, I assure you, you'll find it more to your taste now."

Hermione could not help but remember the terrible state of his flat the last time she'd been there, but thinking of it now caused her mind to stray to her own living quarters. When was the last time she'd cleaned it? She couldn't remember, but she could see the dirty dishes sitting next to the sink, and grimaced. She decided to take some time to fix it up, the next time she was home.

"Why?" she asked, laying her hand over the key.

"It turns out that I did not mean to flee magic altogether, just the wars and battles, and the constant need to defend and justify myself. Your coming . . . at first, I was certain the Aurors would be at my door, but they did not show up. And seeing you reminded me how to live. I owe you for that. I never neglect my debts."

"No, you don't, do you? But you don't owe me anything. Perhaps it is I who owe you."

A noisy crowd of Muggles stumbled in, and Severus looked pointedly at the key. "I'll take care of them. I'll see you later. The bar closes at 3 a.m., but I'll stop by earlier if it gets exceptionally slow."

"I'll have another beer," she said, but pocketed the key.

He nodded, and left to attend the rest of the bar patrons. The younger man came with her beer, and Hermione settled into her seat, allowing herself to relax. Why had it taken her so long to come back here?

She looked at Severus/Samuel and shook her head. She'd never expected him to be alive. And then, to see the state of his flat-the war had affected him more than her, Harry, or Ron. And look what had happened to them! She was still no further in finding a solution for Ron's brain damage, but at least she was making progress on the Time-Turners. And she visited Ron at the new Centre and Harry's tomb every week, but it was beginning to be harder and harder to muster any true emotion. Ron's mind had completely deteriorated, and Harry's tomb was just a tomb.

She finished her beer and headed up to room 28. It wasn't a hotel room. It was a laboratory. She quickly searched the area, finding not only the best implements for potion-making, but also a number of useful ingredients. Various recipes and instructions were littering the few stainless steel tables, and Hermione realized that Severus was actually using this room as a lab. It wasn't long before she found his receipts for Venom's End products. _So, that's what he's been up to! I'll have to check this out!_ She was happy, though, that he had not entirely neglected comfort, and settled into a fuzzy armchair next to a bookcase filled with Potions journals and books. It felt, and smelled, like home, so she let her mind drift. She never could have predicted that this is what her life would be like, but in the end, there were a lot of people who had it worse. It didn't seem long at all before Severus knocked on her door. He had a dusty bottle in his hand, and extended it to her.

"Elf-made?"

He nodded. She grimaced, but set it on one of the tables.

"My place is fixed up now, if you'd like to visit," he said, with a twitch of his lower lip. Was he actually trying to smile?

Hermione followed him back to his flat. The sight stopped her instantly. It was clean. More than clean. A Muggle chess set sat on the kitchen table, demanding she take a look. She'd never been good at chess-Muggle or Wizard's-but had always admired the thinking behind it. It was one of the few things that had originally attracted her to Ron . . . but as he gradually chose Quidditch over chess, she'd missed that side of him.

She thought she might rather enjoy watching Severus Snape play a game.

The alcohol also seemed to be less prominent, for which she was grateful. She did not know how much he had actually been drinking the last time she had been there, but from the state of his flat and the lingering stench, she assumed it was too much. She also found some more recent Potions journals along with clippings from _The Daily Prophet_ and _The Intrepid Magician_. She was surprised to see that many of them concerned her.

"A drink?" Severus' voice startled her from her perusal.

"Yes, I'd like that."

He slid the chess game to one side, and took out two glasses, filling them both with more of the elf-made wine. He sat down, and gestured for her to sit across from him.

"What took you so long to come back here?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, then amended her response. "Well, work, of course. I didn't allow myself any spare time until I finished the first stage of my main project. And I was always being interrupted by other shorter-term projects, so it took longer than I was expecting."

"I see."

"And what does it matter, anyway? I was always just a troublesome student."

"Drink."

She took a drink-it was just as good as the last time, but this time, she was determined not to get drunk. She let it swirl around in her mouth before swallowing. And then she sat, enjoying the silence.

"You've never been a troublesome student," Severus said at last. "You've just had troublesome friends. And we were in the midst of a troublesome war. Things might have been different if-"

He picked up a black knight on the chessboard and moved it to a more central location. Then, he bent over a piece of paper she hadn't seen, and he wrote down a strange code: Ne5. After that, he carefully folded the paper and slid it into an envelope. "I wanted to talk to you about the situation with Mr. Weasley."

She had been about to ask him what would have been different without the war, but his statement was too tempting to pass up. "What?" she asked, leaning forward. Did he, by chance, have an angle to the cure she hadn't considered?

"This may make you uncomfortable," he began, then rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, "but have you considered the Dark Arts?"

"No, of course not!" She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I work for the Ministry, not a shop on Knockturn Alley! I have nothing to do with the Dark Arts!"

"You are an Unspeakable."

"So?"

"Do you know what the Dark Arts are?" When she did not respond, but simply narrowed her eyes, he continued. "They are what you study. They are every piece of magic that is unexplained. They resist all logic and attempts to understand them, which is what makes them dangerous. They are, at this time, Unknowable, and so their results cannot be countered in the same way as other spells because no one knows how they work. That is why the Ministry has an entire department devoted to understanding them. That is why the agents of that department are called Unspeakables."

No. That couldn't be. And yet, it made a certain amount of sense. Certainly, Time-Turners were far from benign. The other forces studied by the Department of Mysteries were equally mysterious and potentially dangerous, just like what she'd always heard of the Dark Arts. And wasn't _Avada Kevadra_ simply the spell equivalent of Death?

"And you, with your knowledge and curiosity," her former professor gibed, "never figured it out?"

Hermione stiffened. Why should she think that just because something was mysterious and potentially dangerous was Dark? She'd grown up believing Dark was evil! Keeping her voice level, she asked, "What does this have to do with Ron?"

"You've already told me you haven't looked into the actual Dark Arts for a cure, correct?" At Hermione's nod, he continued. "Then perhaps I can be of assistance." He settled back again, and fingered one of the chess pieces, but did not move it. "If you're willing to work with the Devil."


	7. To Bottle Pain

Author's Note: Thanks again to Cozy for the early read. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Please let me know if it drags too much at the beginning, or if you think I should include more failed attempts. And again, this is one of the darker chapters. Snape is my favorite character, so when I write HG/SS, I tend to make Hermione more like Snape, rather than vice versa. Let me know what you think!

Chapter Seven:

In the end, they decided that a potion would be best. Severus was still well into his Potions practice, and Hermione had also always been good with Potions, while she was not all that great at other skills involving the Dark Arts. As they both remembered, Defence Against the Dark Arts was the only OWL she had gotten an E, rather than an O, in.

The tricky part was figuring out what kind of potion would be best. It had to be somewhat forceful, as Ron's mind would want to continue to prolong the delusion at any cost. So, it had to be something urgent, and based in the real world. There wasn't anything more "real" than the physical, so it had to be some kind of sensation. And, Hermione realized as she was looking through tomes on the Dark Arts, it would have to be a strong sensation, something that would allow the cure to get into the brain. In other words, the potion had to have two parts: one to anchor Ron's mind back to his body, and one to actually cure the damage in his mind. And the best thing for the former, Hermione realized, was pain.

As soon as she figured this out, she made sure to mention it to Severus at her next visit. She'd been spending pretty much every night at the lab after having a drink or two at the bar, but usually went back to her flat to get a good night's sleep, rather than waiting for the bar to close to actually talk to Severus. She stayed longer on Fridays and Saturdays, when she did not have to get up early the next day. So, that Friday, she was ready with her questions.

"What do you know of that causes pain, but not damage?" she asked, when they were finally together.

"Besides the Cruciatus Curse? Nothing."

"The Cruciatus. . . How does it work? Could it be put into a potion?"

Severus smirked. "Is the former Miss Granger actually flirting with the idea of an Unforgivable?"

"I've used one before, you know!" she shot back. "We Imperiused the goblin when we were looking for that sword."

"Ah yes, Miss Granger and her respect for the non-human races becomes eminently clear."

She flushed at that. She didn't like to remember her lapse in that department. After the fact, she'd given extra money to the organizations supporting non-human rights, but it didn't matter to her. She'd used an Unforgivable on a goblin, when she would never have done so on a human. She was just as bad as all the other wizards out there.

"To answer your question," Severus said, interrupting her self-pity, "I don't know. But it is something we could try. May I ask why?"

"When I first started looking, I learned that the problem is that the bludger causes the mind to separate from the body, pretty much entirely. That means that the delusion, which is in the mind, is completely disconnected from physical reality. This is why most of the usual cures don't work. A Clarity Potion would work best, except that with the complete severance between the mind and body, it would just make the delusion clearer. It wouldn't actually allow the mind to process reality. So, in order to work, it would need to be paired with something that can anchor the body to the mind, and the best way to remind the mind of the body's existence is through pain."

"Ah, yes. Attack the nerves and the brain responds. I was thinking along similar lines, but not exactly. Yes, I can see why the Cruciatus would make sense."

"But wouldn't that be illegal?"

"Like using a Time-Turner to keep a convicted felon and known Death Eater out of the hands of the authorities?" Hermione flushed again, but Severus continued. "Of course it would be. But, we already know that doesn't matter to you if the cause is important enough."

Hermione looked down. She'd thought, with the end of the war, that such tricky moral situations were over, that she could stay within the proper bounds of society's rules. But here was her old professor tempting her that they could find a solution for Ron . . . if they used an Unforgivable. It was worse knowing that it had been her idea in the first place. Could she really bottle pain and give it to Ron?

In the end, she found, she knew she could. Besides the more immediate solution to Ron's brain damage (as opposed to waiting until she had created Time-Turners again), it also appealed to her intellectual curiosity. Could one really turn a spell into a potion? And a Dark spell, at that, considering that no one really knew how they worked?

Now, after work, Hermione went straight to the laboratory. The advantage to using the room at the Blind Eye was that it was well under the Ministry's radar. She was also able to have drinks sent up to her while she worked, but she usually went for her own created Concentration Potions, rather than anything alcoholic. Severus would join her when he got off work, to tweak some of the Darker elements of her work, which she still found mystifying.

One night, she finally made a breakthrough. The main problem had been how to turn a spell into a potion. There were other spells that had potion equivalents, like Cheering Charms and Cheering Potions, but in those cases, the potion was made up of ingredients that encouraged the effect (cheer-inducing ingredients, for example, for Cheering Potions), rather than relying on the charm. In other words, they were two separate things, even if they caused similar results. But most pain-causing ingredients were also poisonous-causing pain because of damage they did to the body's cells. Only the Cruciatus Curse had the effect of pain without damage . . . unless, of course, the victim was exposed to it too long as the Longbottoms had been. So, one couldn't just make a potion out of painful ingredients.

The breakthrough occurred when Hermione remembered her first lesson on the Unforgivables from Crouch-as-Moody in her fourth year. He'd used spiders. She found a spider and suspended it over her Clarity Potion, bringing it as close as she could to the liquid without immersing it entirely. The spider looked beautiful sitting there over the liquid, but Hermione had to be firm. She kept her wand aimed at the spider and said, "Crucio!" at it. Nothing happened. The spider didn't even twitch, certainly, not the way the spiders in Crouch's classroom had. "Crucio!" she said again, and again.

After so many attempts that she'd lost count, she heard a knock at the door. Severus was back from work. Was it really that late? It was a Friday, so she didn't expect it would be slow. Sure enough, it was already 3:00 a.m. Hermione called to Severus, "Come in!" but she did not break her concentration. Sweat was beading on her forehead, as she kept the spider hanging over the potion.

"Crucio!" she tried again, and felt more than saw as Severus joined her. "Crucio!" she yelled again, and finally dropped her wand to the table, letting the spider fall into the potion. "Why isn't it working?" she asked, turning to Severus.

He put his arm on her shoulder. She leaned into him and felt him stiffen. Slowly, he pushed her away from him, but it felt gentle to her, and it felt surprisingly good to have his hands on her. She shook her head. Even if Ron's mind was gone, she was still married to him. And she doubted her old professor would be interested in the direction her mind was taking.

"It appears you care too much, even for spiders," Severus said, taking another step away from her. "Your voice is getting more and more desperate, but it hardly evinces any desire to actually cause pain."

"I need to do this!" she said, scooping the now deceased spider out of her potion. She looked at the liquid. It had changed colour from the vibrant clear blue to a murky green. She sighed, then dumped the mess down the drain, getting out another vial of the Clarity Potion and adding it to her cauldron. "I need to do this," she said again, and went looking for another spider.

"Let me help," Severus said, bringing out a cockroach from one of his jars. "Maybe this will be easier to hate."

Hermione looked at it dubiously. It _was_ ugly. "Maybe," she said, and set it into position. "Crucio!" she yelled at it. This time, it twitched a little, but then reverted to normal.

"Why do you persist in this?" Severus asked, bringing out his own wand. "Why don't you hold it in place and let me cast the spell?"

"Because," she said, holding her wand firmly. "If I can't stand to do it to a cockroach, what makes me think I can administer the potion to Ron? It would be wrong of me to make you do it, when it's my job, my potion, my . . ."

"Together, perhaps, then?"

She looked at him confused, and he set his wand down, wrapping his right hand around hers so that they were both holding her wand.

"Together."

She nodded.

"One," he counted, "two, three."

"CRUCIO!" they both shouted, and this time, Hermione felt the magic leave her wand, empowered by the former Death Eater's. The spell struck the spider, which began to thrash about in the air before landing in the potion and disintegrating. The potion's colour was now a violent plum: a mix of the red pain and anger of the Cruciatus curse and the sparkling blue of the Clarity Potion. Hermione leaned into Severus, and again he stiffened, but didn't move away. After a moment, she felt his hand in her hair, and she took a deep breath of relief before relaxing even further into his chest.

"Now, we just need to know if it works," she mumbled, then closed her eyes. Exhaustion weighed on her suddenly, now that the major work was done.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," murmured Severus. "Perhaps you would like to stay the night?"

She nodded, and let him guide her out of the laboratory and into his flat. He led her to the bed, and she collapsed onto it, asleep before the covers even reached her shoulders.

: : : : : :

"Sleep, Hermione," Severus whispered as he covered her body with blankets. "Sleep well."

He settled into his side of the bed and was soon asleep himself.


	8. Agony Uncorked

Author's Note:

Thanks again to Cozy for the first read! Also, I do apologize for the wait on this one. I ended up spending a significant amount of time on my other story, _Loyaulte me lie_. This is, however, my longest chapter so far, so hopefully that will make up for it!

In this chapter, I punctuate the phrase "Why not?" with a period instead of a question mark in several places. This was done deliberately. It simply sounds _differently_ when it has as question mark than when it has a period. I thought about it for quite some time and decided that was simply the best way to go. Thank you.

Chapter Eight: Agony Uncorked

Hermione awoke late in the day, and noticed that she was on the other side of the bed from the last time she slept there - that fateful day when she'd first discovered that Severus Snape was alive. The other side of the bed was empty, but ruffled, and she slowly sat up. She saw him bent over the chess game that was still in progress. She knew it was the same one, because pieces had gradually disappeared from the board and now, there were just the two kings and a few pawns. She stretched, more loudly than she did at home, and he turned to face her.

"Good morning." He nodded at her, and went back to the game.

"Good morning yourself!" she said, cheerily, and hopped out of bed. He turned and gave her a pointed look before turning back to the game.

She sat opposite him and, noticing his steaming mug, asked, "Well, aren't you going to offer me some coffee?"

He looked up at her again, clearly irritated. "Can't you see I'm busy? Get it yourself." He pointed to the kitchen, and again bent his head over the game.

Hermione bristled, but said nothing as she rose to get herself a cup. But although she easily found the coffeepot (a Muggle one) and the carafe near it to keep the coffee warm without burning it, there was no cup sitting out; she didn't think he would appreciate her rifling through his cupboards. "Um," she started.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"Where are the cups?" she asked.

He let out a long sigh, then rose. Without a word, he opened the cupboard directly over the coffeepot and carafe, reached in to get her a cup, and set it in front of her before returning to his game. She poured the coffee and joined him at the table. This time, she said nothing, but just watched. His face, which had aged since the war, was creased in concentration. He would pick up a pawn, set it down, and look at the board some more, then sit back and regard the pieces. His frame held neither the nonchalant attitude he'd had when making the knight move on her second visit, nor the enthusiastic competitiveness Ron had shown when playing the game. The only thing she could liken it to was the intense concentration she herself felt while working on an important project. And, making the connection, she realized she wouldn't have liked interruptions under those circumstances, either.

She waited until he had actually made a move and marked on the now very well-used piece of paper. "So," she began, taking another sip of coffee, "how do we know that the Cruciatus won't cause lasting damage in that potion? How do we know it won't cause pain forever?"

"We don't," Severus said.

"What do you mean, we don't?" she asked, but knew the answer. As no one had ever tied a spell to a potion before, no one knew how it would react once it was there. "Never mind," she said. "Of course we don't."

She felt her shoulders slump in dejection. There was no way she could give the potion to Ron without knowing it wouldn't make matters worse. At least now, even if he was addle-brained, he was happy. If the Clarity Potion couldn't get through, or if the Cruciatus part of the new potion wouldn't dissipate, he'd be worse off than if they hadn't intervened. Hermione wasn't about to take that chance. She finished her coffee, thanked Severus for the use of his flat, and made her way home. She had several household errands still to take care of this week-end, and she wanted to get started on the second stage of her Time-Turner project. She tried not to think of the failure of all her work on the potion. She just couldn't give it to Ron this way.

: : :

The rest of the day went about as well as Hermione could expect. She made half-hearted attempts at her work after finishing her errands, and without really intending it, she ended up back at the Blind Eye after dinner. She ordered soda water at first, aware that her morose attitude could quickly lead to a drunken stupor if she wasn't careful. So, she was careful.

But not for long. After about an hour, she still wasn't ready to face her empty apartment, and the soda water no longer seemed to have any flavour. Or maybe it did not have any flavour to begin with. She ordered a gin and tonic, and vowed to nurse it slowly.

Why did everything have to be so difficult? She'd spent so much energy on that spell, even giving in to enough of her darker nature to allow Severus to cast the Cruciatus with her, and it was all for nothing. She couldn't use the potion, not without knowing if it would cause damage. She slammed the now-empty glass on the table. What a short-sighted dunderhead she'd been! She had no idea how Severus could have put up with watching her create the potion, and even help with it, only to find out she hadn't considered the experimental nature of the thing.

The other barkeeper, the younger one, noticed her gesture, and approached. "Would the lady like another?" His eyes sparkled, and Hermione felt irritation building in her spine. Why did he have to be so bloody cheery?

"Sure," she said, "why not." Why not anything. Why not try the stupid potion herself, right? Then, she could find out if it worked (provided she had enough, but not too much, alcohol first) and if it would cause damage. Who cared if it caused damage to her. If Severus was honourable, he could probably lessen the pain. And if not, well, it was the only option she had. At least she was going into it with consent. Ron wasn't. She couldn't experiment on him. It certainly wouldn't matter to anyone else if something happened to her. Ginny probably thought Hermione blamed her for Harry's death; the other girl turned her head or ducked away, blushing in what Hermione supposed was shame, anytime she met with Hermione. Who was left? Certainly not her Ministry co-workers; despite their intelligence, even they found her diligence and organization annoying. It didn't help that she was always early with her projects, and they struggled to keep up with their deadlines. Just as at Hogwarts, she was the Ministry equivalent of the teacher's pet. Yes, she decided, she'd take the bloody potion herself.

Not a gin and tonic, but a _firewhisky_ materialised before her, and she looked up into Samuel's grey eyes.

: : :

Severus was aware of Hermione as soon as she entered the bar. When she didn't leave to go up to the lab for more research, he realized that their main research was over. The potion was complete. So why was she here?

He saw her order the gin and tonic and grimace at his apprentice, then sit in what seemed to be a dejected manner. When she slammed her glass onto her table, he knew he had to intervene.

"Obviously, the gin and tonic isn't doing its job, is it?" he asked after setting down the firewhisky.

"I'm going to do it," she said, slamming the drink back with the same force she'd used the last time he'd seen her drink anything stronger than beer or elf-made wine. _That night_. The night he'd accidentally let his sleeve slip, the night she'd seen his Dark Mark, the night she learned that Severus Snape wasn't 100% dead. He still didn't know why he hadn't simply disappeared into the night. And yet, looking around at his patrons, he knew. When she'd seen the mark, she hadn't fled. When she saw his face, she hadn't threatened to call the Aurors. He knew she was more responsible than Potter for the dog's escape from the Aurors, and for Buckbeak's escape. He knew she'd at least listen to him before condemning him. And he had a life here. It wasn't necessarily the best life before he'd started cleaning and making something of himself, but he had the bar, he had Alfred, his apprentice, he had the regulars . . . It wasn't magic, but it was home. When he'd fled from Hogwarts, he'd vowed to himself he'd never flee his home again. Yes, he'd made preparations in case she wasn't what he thought she was, but they were half-hearted attempts.

She was tapping her glass impatiently, and he realised he'd been hovering over her without saying anything. Her last words made their way to his brain. "Going to do what? Have another firewhisky or two?"

"Well, that, yes, but more importantly, I'm going to take the potion. I need to know if it will cause lasting damage, and I can consent to it. Ron can't. I figured if I got drunk, we could also find out if the Clarity Potion part worked."

We.

"And what makes you think I'll have anything to do with this hair-brained scheme?" He wasn't going to sit and watch while someone else took a potion he couldn't cure, one that caused extreme pain. Not again. "I'm done with that, Miss Granger."

"Fine," she said, setting her glass down harder than he expected, and rising to her feet. "Don't help. I'll be _fine_."

"Sit down, Miss Granger." He reached out an arm but she brushed it aside with a shoulder.

"Stop calling me _Miss Granger!_" She was hysterical. Still, she sat, and began to take heavy, shallow breaths of anger.

Severus gestured over Alfred. He lifted her glass, still sitting on the table. "Get the lady some of the special whisky," he ordered.

"The special . . . you mean the kind you said would likely kill me?"

"It _would_ kill you."

"But not her."

"No. Not her. Trust me on this. I know she's got a . . . a particular gene. She can tolerate it, I assure you."

The man walked away shaking his head. "If you say so," he muttered, and returned with a glass of firewhisky.

Hermione was looking at it suspiciously.

"You know what it is," he reminded her. "I thought you wanted some."

"Does this mean you're going to help me?"

"It means I'm going to help you get drunk," he clarified. "Beyond that . . . "

Instead of taking the cup, she crossed her arms over her chest, clearly awaiting him to clarify.

"Why should I help you?" he asked.

"I just thought," she said, "I mean, we worked on it together. It was _our_ project. I need someone to spot me, and I just thought, I mean, I _trust_ you!"

Trust. Dumbledore had trusted him. Voldemort had, for awhile, trusted him. Minerva trusted him until he'd killed Dumbledore. Lily Evans had, at one point, trusted him. Trust led only to betrayal.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and enjoyed watching her eyes open in softness. He wasn't up for softness tonight, though. He slammed his hand on the table, making her drink jiggle. "Thank you," he hissed, "for reminding me why I left the Wizarding World and all it stood for! Oh, you _trust_ me do you? So, now I have to betray you: if I don't help you, in order to protect you, you'll just take the damn potion without me. If I do help you, I'm potentially assisting in your own downfall!"

He stood, about to turn, when she said his name, quietly, not loud enough to be heard beyond their table. "Severus, please. . ."

"No," he said, but sat down again. "You will not play that game with me. No more 'Severus please' ever again. Not in that tone."

Her eyes widened. "Dumbledore," she said.

He said nothing, but nodded.

"I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. "I didn't mean to bring up something so painful." She tangled her fingers in her hair. "I just . . . you're right," she said sitting up taller, and taking only a sip of the firewhisky. "I'm being selfish. It's just so hard to know the right thing to do! I can't give Ron the potion without knowing it doesn't cause permanent damage. But if I just ignore all the work we did, well, then why did we even bother? But if I take it alone, I don't know what will happen. I need . . . I need someone to spot me, and I want . . . I want it to be you."

She looked up then and met his gaze. "But I don't want to hurt you." She looked down again, and with trembling hands, brought the glass of firewhisky to her lips. "And," she murmured, after sipping the drink and setting the glass down, "I do trust you."

He hissed in a breath. "Drink your whisky," he said, tapping her glass. "Then, let's go."

She looked up, eyes hopeful.

"To talk more," he said, then rose. He had to think about this before deciding. But he knew he really had no choice. She was going to take the potion with or without his presence. And, he realized, it was her decision to make. She wasn't making him pour the stuff down her throat; she was just asking him to be there and watch over her. Could he do that? He wasn't sure.

When he saw her pass into the stairwell, he passed his apron to Alfred and followed.

: : :

Hermione tried not to look at the potion in its vial after she entered Room 28. She wasn't surprised when Severus entered shortly after her. She stood facing away from him, her arms over her chest. She knew she was radiating cold anger, but she didn't care. This really was the only choice left, and she knew it. If Severus wouldn't help her, she didn't know what she'd do.

"Hermione." His voice was surprisingly soft, but it had been soft when he'd said "thank you", too. She didn't respond; she just stood there, not looking at him, not looking at it.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, wincing at the undisguised bitterness in her voice. "I never meant to drag you into all of this. I just wanted . . . " What really, had she wanted? The potion? She had it. A working partner? That was uncomfortably close to friend. She shivered, despite the fact that it wasn't all that cold, at least not for a potions laboratory. No, she'd have been stupid to look for a friend in Severus Snape of all people. He'd always been so mean to her and her friends. But what had he said that one night, that if it wasn't for the war . . . ?

"You said something," she said, breaking the silence. "Before we started talking about Ron and the potion. I said I was a troublesome student, and you, you said that I wasn't, that I had troublesome friends, that the war was troublesome. You started to say more, but . . . What were you going to say?" She turned around and dropped her arms. "What were you going to say, Severus?"

"Surely you can guess," he said.

"I wasn't troublesome," she said. "If things were different, maybe . . . "

"Maybe I would have treated you differently. Yes. Despite your ridiculous tendency to cling to books and think they were always right, you were intelligent, and your potions were always better than Malfoy's. You really should have done something with Potions," he concluded.

"I thought about it," she said, "But when I heard about the vacancy in Time, well, it was partly my fault the Time-Turners got broken, and I've always been fascinated with the things that people don't understand. It just seemed natural."

"Hmph." He nodded. "I suppose you're right. But yes, things would have been different if I hadn't had a former Death Eater status to maintain. The Dark Mark had faded, but it wasn't gone. I thought that meant he was still alive. Obviously I was right that he was alive, but wrong about the Mark. And there was Lucius to consider, and Dumbledore, and Potter and Weasley, who seemed to want nothing more than to cause me trouble and drag you into it. If you'd even been Sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, of all places . . ." He waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. "But it doesn't matter does it? It was what it was."

"You were my favourite teacher, you know," she said. "I always told Harry and Ron that Arithmancy was my most challenging class, but really Potions was. You actually challenged me, instead of being grateful and happy that I managed the most basic spells. It hurt my ego at first, but it made me work harder. I couldn't tell Harry and Ron that - they never would have understood. They always wanted easy classes. But like you said, I couldn't really tell you my thoughts, either. I could hardly let Harry or Ron know that you were my favourite teacher."

She shivered again, this time upon remembering that she was planning to bring Ron back to his senses. What would he do when he found out what she was doing with Severus? It was all innocent, of course, but it was his most hated professor, whom he probably thought was still evil. Would she have to pretend the Blind Eye didn't exist, and forget about Severus' existence? No, she couldn't do that. Would she have to meet with Severus secretly, so that she didn't _have_ to explain things to Ron? It was a question that made her squirm; it was too much like cheating on him, even if it was just professional, and yes, she added to herself, friendly, interest.

She crossed the distance between them. "How did it all go so wrong?" she asked.

He turned aside. "It was never right," he said.

She faced the potion again. "I have to do it, you know," she said at last, and realized that her digression to school days was just an attempt to put off the inevitable. Now that she was faced with the angry plum potion, she was scared.

"I know," he said.

"Will you watch over me?"

His eyes were closed, and his posture was stiff, but he nodded, then opened his eyes.

: : :

Severus was committed. But he had been as soon as he'd decided to follow her up here. He realized that now.

"Are you still at all tipsy?" he asked.

"Yes. But maybe . . . "

He brought out his bottle of firewhisky and poured her another. "You want some liquid courage?"

She nodded, sighing. "Yes, thank you." She took sip, then added, "I didn't let on before, but I'm scared. I don't really want to be in pain for the rest of my life."

He nodded. There was nothing to say to that. He knew that the more dangerous it was, the more she'd want to try it herself before giving it to her husband. Husband. As if Weasley had ever deserved a woman like her. But that was neither here nor there. Now, he had to watch over her while she destroyed herself for the boy, yet again.

She finished the firewhisky, then headed to the potion. She started to uncork it, then turned to him. "You'd better measure it," she said. "I am a little tipsy, after all. Measure out the same amount we'd give Ron."

He glared at her, but knew that if he didn't measure it, she'd pour in way too much. As he prepared the exact dose, he found his hand shaking, and he realized that apart from his own concerns, he really did not want anything to happen to Hermione. He steadied his hand and got the dosage right. But he still didn't want to give it to her. He'd hurt too many people in his past; it was his Cruciatus, mostly, and he didn't want to hurt her.

He poured the dose in a clean tumbler, and though he wished he could turn away so that he did not have to watch her drink it, he knew it would not count as "watching over" her if he stopped watching. So he stood there, keeping his emotions thickly veiled behind his dark eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath, flashed him a quick smile, then raised the glass and said, "To sanity!" Then, she poured it down her mouth, swallowing quickly.

"Ah!" she said, and stumbled erratically in the direction of his arm chair. He moved quickly, and let her elbow rest on his arm, guiding her to the chair. "Ah, ah, oh," she moaned. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, and her face made an ugly grimace. She turned to face him, and grabbed his arms with both of hers. Thankfully, she kept her nails trimmed, or they would have been digging into his skin, past his Muggle attire. Robes, he decided, would have been better for this. He wrapped his own arms around her, and felt as she sank into him.

: : :

The potion tasted like fire. Hermione swallowed as quickly as she could to get the fire out of her mouth, but then it just travelled through her esophagus, to her stomach, and then throughout her body.

And then, Hermione was aware of nothing but the pain. Everything hurt so much! What had possessed her to drink a potion version of the Cruciatus Curse? But then she felt Severus' arm under hers, helping to guide her to the armchair. But just as they had almost reached it, another wave of pain hit her head, and she found herself grasping onto him as if he were a life-saver. In the back of her mind, she noted that the Clarity Potion was working; she no longer felt even the least bit drunk. But the pain, oh, the pain! She knew she was moaning, and forced herself to stop. She looked Severus in the face. "Bed," she said. "I - I need a bed, not, not a -" She took a deep breath trying to settle the pain in her nerves. "Not, not a ch . . . hair." The last word came out as a long exhalation, and she realized she wasn't going to be able to speak much more than that.

Severus nodded, and, placing one arm around her back, guided her out of Room 28 and into his flat. It took an exceptionally long time. The pain was everywhere, but seemed concentrated in her head. It felt like her head was too small for the amount of pressure, and that it was going to burst any moment. She tried finding humour in the thought of her head actually exploding, but she couldn't laugh. Laughing would just make it hurt more.

Severus settled her into the bed, but she did not let go of him, so he ended up lying beside her. She couldn't help but turn toward him. A wave of pain caught her, and she closed her eyes again, grasping his shirt front. When it passed, although she still felt pain coursing through her body, she managed to speak again, if only in a whisper. "Hold me?" she asked.

He stiffened, but nodded, bringing one hand to caress her head. The next few hours were a blur of pain.

: : :

Severus had not realised what he was getting into. He thought he was just supposed to watch over her as she made it through the pain of the potion, but then she'd asked him to hold her. She snuggled in between his arms, and despite her gasps and moans of pain, she rested there. Without meaning to, he began to stroke her hair, and then her back, wishing that he could take the pain away. She hadn't immediately fallen to jerking on the floor, though, so clearly, the Cruciatus had been somewhat weakened by its transformation into the potion, almost as if it had been diluted. That was a relief, because the pain wasn't receding nearly as quickly as he might have hoped, and if it was the real Cruciatus, she'd have already gone mad.

But, despite her obvious agony, she was still aware. She would occasionally look at him and whisper his name, and he'd soothe her back or her head. They lay that way for an hour, and then another. As they did, he began to relax himself in a way that he'd never felt before. Here was another human being, in his arms, letting him comfort her as she experienced perhaps the worst, or at least, longest lasting pain she'd ever felt. And what had she said earlier, that she'd _wanted_ it to be him? Was that possible? Hermione Granger, know-it-all show off, lying here, vulnerable, in his arms, because she wanted to?

He hitched in his breath. It wasn't possible, and yet, here she was. He didn't want to let her go.

Then, slowly, the gasps and moans became less and less frequent, and before he knew it, she was asleep in his arms. She breathed slowly and, it seemed to him, contentedly. And not long after, he was asleep, too.

: : :

Hermione awoke once in the middle of the night, and she found that she was still cuddled up next to Severus. She smiled, breathed a sigh of contentment, and fell back asleep.

When she woke up the next morning, he was not in bed, and he wasn't playing chess, but he was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

"Good morning!" she said, as she stretched.

"Good morning." He stood up, then, and said, "I suppose you'd like some coffee?"

"I'd love some!"

She bounced over to the table, and watched as he poured her a cup, then brought it back to her. She took in a deep breath. "For awhile there," she said, before taking a sip of the hot liquid, "I wasn't sure I'd ever feel normal again!"

"I take it you are feeling better now."

"Wonderful! And the Clarity Potion worked, too. Even though I was in pain, I could tell almost immediately that I was no longer drunk." She reached a hand across the table, and he allowed her to hold it. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for being there."

He stiffened and retracted his hand. "Yes, well." He took a long drink of coffee. "When are you going to give it to Weasley?"

"Tomorrow," she said promptly. She'd go as soon as she got done with work. "You'll come, right?"

"I have to work."

"Let your apprentice take care of it, like you did last night."

"We'll see." He steepled his hands before him, then unsteepled them and rose from the table. "Now, I think you should go. That is, if you're sure you're fine?"

"Yes, I'm fine. And you're right. I have things to do. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope." She left Severus' flat and from Diagon Alley, Apparated home. Tomorrow she'd give Ron the potion. Tomorrow, she'd have her husband back. So, why did it feel like instead of gaining something she was losing something?


	9. Everything Will Change

Author's Note: I actually wrote this before chapter 7, and it was in writing this chapter that I realized I was going to have to fill in more details. Please let me know if there are any sections that seem either repetitive or out of place, as a result. As always, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nine: Everything Will Change

Ron Weasley floated in a sea of happiness. Everything was simple for him now: he was a top Quidditch player, and even though he wasn't a Seeker, he'd managed to catch the Golden Snitch. He replayed the moment over and over in his head, occasionally taking out a broom and flying into the sky. He never seemed to need sleep or food, and could just fly as much as he liked without ever coming down.

And then the pain began.

It started in his tongue, but travelled quickly through his body to his head. He felt himself begin to fall off the broom, but he clutched it more strongly, trying to use the broom to weave himself out of the pain. It didn't work. The broom caught on fire, and he began to fall. When he hit the ground, he could feel the bruises forming over his body, and he turned sideways onto his back, trying to look up at the sky, but suddenly, it was all too bright. The sun was his enemy and his head began to burn. His head felt hot and heavy, and he could tell it was swelling up. He began to toss around on the ground, hoping to somehow ease the pain in his head . . .

* * *

Hermione bit her lip as she watched her husband begin to tangle himself in his sheets. She glanced nervously at the man standing next to her. Since she'd begun seeing him regularly after work, she no longer found it surprising to see him in the guise of Samuel. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know, this doesn't seem right," she murmured, trying to ignore the struggles of her husband. But she knew if she had the choice, she'd do anything to avoid becoming a vegetable. The pain was only temporary-she knew that from the other night. She still remembered the way Severus had cushioned her and supported her. It had changed something in their friendship, and as she looked between him and Ron, she was no longer sure she could go back to her old life. She'd been vulnerable with Severus, in a way she had never been with Ron. With Ron, she had to be in charge all the time, because even though he was sweet, he was enormously shortsighted and impulsive. With Severus, she could relax; she could take off her mantle of responsibility and just be.

"Shh," Severus whispered in her ear. "We've been through this. It will work, and there will be no lasting damage."

She took a deep breath. He was right. There would be no lasting damage, and indeed it would hopefully reverse the supposed "permanent" damage he'd already taken from the bludger. Still, watching him flounder in his sheets bothered her. He was helpless, and she was the one who'd given him the dose of Pain Potion. It was almost like casting the Cruciatus, and it seemed equally wrong, despite all their testing. She took another deep breath. Severus was right: they were reversing damage, not causing it. She had to remember that. She reached out and grabbed his other hand with hers, nearly crushing it.

* * *

Severus Snape had no idea how he'd ended up comforting Hermione Weasley as she watched her husband come back to the world of sanity. His gambit had been merely that: he wanted to see how far into the Dark Miss Gr-Mrs. Weasley would go to save her husband. It had been a game.

But she'd gone further than expected. He hadn't expected her to try the potion herself to make sure there wouldn't be any permanent damage. He'd had to watch her, to make sure everything was fine. And somehow, the game was twisted into something much more real and meaningful. He hadn't felt this sense of purpose since Voldemort's demise. And this time, there was someone who not only trusted him, but allowed herself to become completely vulnerable in his presence. The only other person who'd done that had made him a murderer.

He hadn't been the same since she'd done that. And now he was here, with the hysterical woman squeezing his hand with all her strength as her husband thrashed about on his mattress. A husband that would wake up and take her away from him.

* * *

Hermione was shocked when Severus dropped her hand and removed his from her shoulder. She looked at him questioningly, but his face was blank. He strode away from her, down the hall, and out of sight. What was that about?

She didn't have time to consider it, because Ron's movements had stalled, and then, his eyes opened.

He blinked several times, as if the light were too bright, and Hermione remembered how much her own head had hurt that night. Still, she wanted to see him.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Where am I?"

"You're in the . . . well, the hospital," she said. She wasn't sure he'd like the idea of having a bludger medical centre named for him.

"Saint Mungo's? What-what happened? Everything-ah-I hurt!"

"Shh..." she said smoothing his brow. "I'm here. Just rest."

Ron no longer thrashed about, but she could tell from the way he curled up on the bed and from what she remembered from the other night, that it was going to be awhile. After a few hours, his breathing finally began to deepen, and a look of peace settled over his face.

"What happened?" he asked again. "I still feel really sore. Where's the rest of the family?"

Hermione hadn't considered the Weasleys. She knew they wouldn't care for her decision to try out an experimental potion on Ron, even if she had taken it herself. She decided to answer his first question instead. "Well, a bludger hit you in the head-"

"Is that why my brain feels like it wants to explode out of my head?"

"No, well, do you want to hear the explanation or not?" She regretted the harshness in her voice, and softened it. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said, smiling up at her. "Go ahead. I'll listen."

She explained his initial accident without difficulty, but when she got to the part about the potion, she wasn't sure what to say. She knew she couldn't bring Severus into it, not now. She'd have to ease Severus into their lives somehow, and she was sure that him convincing her to try out the Dark Arts would not sit well with Ron.

"I found some books in the library." He'd believe that and not bother to check it out for himself. "I learned that, well, everything I study at the Ministry is really the Dark Arts, just by a nicer-sounding name. The Dark Arts is just a scary term for all the stuff we don't understand yet. Anyway, I did a lot of research, and came up with a potion that I figured would bring your mind back. The only problem was, it was connected to the Cruciatus Curse and would cause pain."

"The Cruciatus Curse also causes madness," Ron spat at her.

"If used too long, yes. But in shorter doses-"

"Wait. _That's_ why I hurt so much? Because you found a way to bottle the Cruciatus Curse and then poisoned me with it?"

Ron's face was red, and Hermione found herself backing away. "Well," she said, standing tall again. "I did try it myself, first!"

Ron rolled over onto his side, facing away from her, arms crossed over his chest. He muttered something she couldn't hear.

"What?" she asked, curious, but nervous at the same time. "I didn't hear you."

"I said, didn't even think to ask me about it first. Some wife."

"Excuse me? How could I have asked you if you were still up in Quidditch heaven thinking you'd caught the Snitch? I mean, you weren't exactly rational, Ron!"

"Maybe Quidditch heaven, as you call it, was better than this life!" he shot back. "I bet I can't even play Quidditch again."

"Ron-" She knew it wouldn't be easy for him, but she hadn't expected such a venomous response to her. Hadn't they been about to start fixing their marriage?

"Never mind," he mumbled. "I can hear it in your voice. I can't play again."

"We can probably go home whenever you like, you know. You're cured now, and if you aren't in too much pain, there shouldn't be any problem. You don't have to stay here unless you want to."

"Home. Your home or mine?"

"Ours?" she asked, hopeful.

"Right. Ours." He was silent for a long time, but then got out of the bed. "Sure."

He dressed quickly, and due to his quick and unexpected recovery, was released without any problems from the Weasley Centre for the Prevention of Bludger Damage. They travelled back to their flat in silence. When there, Ron went straight to bed without a single word. Hermione stayed up watching him, then finally headed out to the Blind Eye. She told herself that he clearly wanted space from her, but she also needed to get away from the oppressive feeling of accusation and guilt.

When she got there, she was disappointed to see that her favourite table was taken. She sat at a table in the middle of the room instead, and realized that it was really odd that her table was always free. It was only a matter of time before she didn't have that luck. It just would have to happen on a night when she really needed it-then again, lately, there hadn't been many nights that she didn't need it, at least, not since coming back.

A snide voice intruded on her musings. "What are you doing here _Mrs. Weasley?_" She looked up into Samuel's face.

"I wanted a drink," she said.

"What about your _husband?_" Again, the sneer. But what was his problem? "Shouldn't you be at home with him?"

She couldn't admit that she wasn't sure her husband wanted her at home. She deflected the question. "He's sleeping, and I think he needs some time alone to get used to being . . . back."

The other man gave a curt nod and disappeared. He returned with a glass of really pale beer. "Your drink, madam," he said, and disappeared again.

She took a sip. It was about the worst and cheapest beer she'd ever had, and she wrinkled her nose. What was up with Severus? He'd disappeared so suddenly from the Weasley Centre, and now he was making snide remarks and giving her bad beer. He couldn't have developed romantic feelings for her, could he? And even if he did, he had to know that she was going to bring Ron back to his senses! He couldn't blame her for doing what was only natural. She huffed and took another drink of beer, determined to like it. It was still awful. She waited until she saw him disappear into the kitchen, and waved the other barkeep over. "This isn't what I ordered," she said. "Could I get a darker beer?"

"I'm sorry. I was told that that's all you'll get here tonight." He did look apologetic, but she couldn't believe Severus would really make such a demand.

"Why?" she asked.

"Ask him."

"Never mind." She got up and returned home. Maybe she didn't need to find a way to introduce Severus into her life with Ron. He seemed determined to keep her out of his.

* * *

Ron's sleep was fitful. Even though he was still a little sore, it wasn't the pain that kept him from rest. It was the dreams, and the way they reminded him of reality. He could see now, clearly, how ridiculous his actions had been after he'd been hit with that bludger. Now, he couldn't even play Quidditch again. What had Hermione been thinking? How could she have brought him back into this world where he no longer had any career? When he couldn't even do the thing he loved most? Life without Quidditch . . . he wasn't sure it was worth it.

But he realized he'd been too hard on her, too. He did have his mind back, and he knew from what he'd heard, that bludger-caused brain damage was often permanent if there'd been too many bludgers before the actual incident. What she'd accomplished was a great feat. He opened his eyes, and looked for her to tell her that he admired her.

But she was gone. Where was she? Where could she have gone this late at night? Back to work? But surely she'd have stayed for him, right?

He heard a pop in the flat, and knew she was Apparating in.

"Where were you?" he asked, as soon as she appeared, fully dressed. "I was just going to tell you that I'm sorry for being such a git when I first came to my senses. But now, I don't know. Where were you? Why weren't you here?"

Hermione sighed. "Ron. I thought you didn't want me here. You didn't seem particularly welcoming, so I figured I'd give you some space."

Something about her explanation didn't ring true.

"So where did you go?"

"Just a Muggle bar. I just wanted a drink, and there's a place I know . . ." Her voice trailed off, and Ron sensed there was something she wasn't telling him. "I'll take you sometime, if you'd like."

He grunted an assent, and they nestled into the bed together. But Ron still couldn't fully sleep. There just was something wrong with Hermione, and he didn't know what it was. But he would find out. At least the pain was gone.


	10. In Need of a Friend

Author's Note:

First of all, thanks to Very Small Prophet for pointing out some lapses in common sense on my part in some of the earlier chapters. I do plan on doing something about them, but not sure what yet. As for duj's comment regarding the duration of the Clarity Potion part of the potion, the idea was that it instantly restored the user to his or her normal level of clarity, not that it somehow augmented one's clarity for a particular duration. So if it works, it works. It doesn't really need to "last." And finally, thanks to sandlapper, who reminded me how blind Hermione really was in that last chapter.

: : :

Chapter Ten: In Need of a Friend

_Dear Severus,_

_I'm not sure what I did to disappoint you. I thought for sure that we were developing a friendship, even though it seems so strange after our rocky teacher/student history. I never thought I could feel for you the way I did the other night, and it has complicated everything. I don't mind the complication, though. I was sure I could find a way for us to stay friends despite Ron's prejudice, but now it seems you want nothing to do with me. The way you sneered the words "Weasley" and "husband" make me suspect either that you think I will automatically agree with his estimation of you, or that perhaps you have developed romantic feelings for me. As for the first, I can assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I will make him see that you are worthy of respect and friendship with as much vigour as I've ever put into any project! As for the second idea, you must admit that, considering our past history, it seems absurd to me! Oh, I'll admit I've felt . . . differently . . . around you than in the past, especially since taking that potion, but I cannot understand how or why you could ever have feelings for __me__ - I've brought you nothing but trouble! In any case, if that is the cause of your sudden distance, I apologize. I never meant to lead you on. I didn't know what I wanted, and now I know I want more from you than just a drink - magical or otherwise. I want us to be friends. And, of course, if you're upset for something I haven't thought of here, please let me know. I will make it up to you, I promise._

_Your friend, I hope,_

_Hermione_

: : :

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_I do not have friends._

_S. Sangfroid_

_: : :_

Hermione woke before Ron, but she remembered herself how much energy it had taken to deal with the pain of the potion, so she brewed some coffee, and considered Severus' strange behaviour the night before. She wished he had told her what was wrong. All she had to go on were guesses, and she already missed the comfortable relationship they'd developed working together on the potion. Well, there was only one way to find out. She took out a quill and parchment, and quickly penned a missive to him, then sealed it in a Muggle envelope and, after looking in her phone book, added the address for Samuel Sangfroid at the Blind Eye pub in London. She'd take it to the Muggle post office as soon as she had the time.

By the time she'd finished, Ron was beginning to stir.

"We need to talk," he said, after rubbing his eyes and gulping down half a mug of coffee. "First, how are the Magpies doing?"

Hermione blushed. She hadn't even thought to check on their progress, but of course he'd want to know.

"You don't know," he said, taking another gulp of coffee. "Not surprising, really." He looked around. "Do you have any sweetbreads?"

Another thing she'd forgotten: Ron's sweet tooth. She shook her head. "I'll get some today, I promise." It was Tuesday, but she'd called in a vacation day, so she could spend time with Ron. "I'll get whatever you want."

"Do you have anything to eat in the morning?"

"I have bread and jam - will that do?"

He shrugged, as if to say that it would have to do. She rose and came back with the bread and several flavours of jam and jelly. He chose orange marmalade, and she winced as she saw how much of it he spread over the bread.

"So," he said, talking with his mouth full, "I know I was gone for a long time, over a year, right? What happened in all that time? How is my family doing? Did Harry and Ginny get back together?"

"Well. . . " Hermione stalled, and took a piece of bread herself to chew on as she thought. "I haven't seen much of your family, I'm afraid. I was working on Time-Turners. I thought that if I could make them again, I could go back in time and fix everything, you know, make sure you didn't get hit with the bludger, and so I just pretty much stayed in my office and the library until I discovered the potion idea."

Ron rolled his eyes, but kept eating. "And Harry and Ginny?"

This was what she was dreading. "Well, that was the other thing I wanted to reverse. Harry - Harry, he went, well, after you died, and he'd lost Ginny, well, he thought it would be a good idea to talk to Sirius. I found his cloak by the Veil."

"Harry - dead?" Ron stopped eating, and Hermione could see tears forming in his eyes. People always accused him of being insensitive, but she knew he cared a lot for Harry. "So Ginny's still with Luna?"

"I guess. I haven't seen her much, either. Like I said, I've been pretty involved with work."

He took another bite, and mumbled something.

This time, she chose not to ask, but he repeated himself anyway. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

_I have_. "Maybe not in how I cope," she conceded. "But I've changed a lot in other ways. I don't have much hope anymore."

"Maybe Harry was the hope."

"Maybe," she agreed, but secretly knew there was more to it. Things had started going wrong before Harry's death.

"So, does anyone in my family know I'm no longer at the hospital?"

"Not yet, no," Hermione admitted. "I didn't tell them beforehand; I didn't think they'd approve. But!" She put up a hand to keep him from interrupting. "But I knew it would work! I tried it myself!"

"Yeah, that's what you said last night," he said, chewing on another slice of bread. "So, when can I see them?"

"We'll meet as soon as they can. I'll send an owl -"

"I'll do it," Ron said, standing and wiping his hands on his pajamas. He hastily scrawled two notes, and called, "Vespy! Got a delivery for you." Vesperion, their screech owl appeared, and Ron attached the two letters to him. He directed the first one to go to the Burrow, and the second to Andra Vance. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"A friend, one of the Beaters on the Magpies," Ron explained. "There's nothing between us. You know I need to know how they're doing. I know I can't go back, but -"

"I know," Hermione said.

Hermione went out around noon when Ron got his response back from Andra and went to meet his teammates. Molly Weasley had written back inviting the two of them to dinner. That would give Hermione enough time to get the groceries Ron would appreciate and to send her letter to Severus.

: : :

Ron followed the instructions on where to meet Andra and the others, and ended up not at the Quidditch pitch as he'd expected, but outside an apartment complex. He had thought that the instructions seemed different from what he'd remembered, but he'd chalked that up to the long time he'd spent out of his mind. He only had to wait a second before Andra appeared. He was struck by how much better she looked than he remembered. He had to deliberately keep his mind on Hermione.

"Ron!" she cried, running toward him and nearly knocking the breath out of him as she took him in a bear hug. "You're really here!" She took a step back to get a good look at him. "You're really here," she said again. "How are you here?"

"Hermione figured out how to bring me back," Ron explained, then looked around for the rest of the team. "How - why am I here? I thought I was meeting with the whole team. Is everyone here?"

Andra's face sunk. "No," she said. "You should have owled someone else for that, I'm afraid. I'm no longer on the team."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Let me tell you over tea," she said, opening the door. "And," she said, winking, "I have some of your favourite sweets!"

Ron began salivating at the thought. The marmalade and bread just hadn't cut it.

He followed Andra up to her flat. He still wanted to catch up with the rest of the Magpies, but Andra had been his best friend on the team, so he was glad he had come to see her. He'd check in with the other Magpies another day.

Andra's flat was bright and cheery, so different from the neutral efficiency of the house he shared with Hermione. She took him to the kitchen, a room with bright yellow walls and all sorts of cooking decor in a variety of colours and shapes that didn't quite match. He felt himself grinning. He hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time. Maybe things would be okay, after all, even if he couldn't play Quidditch anymore. After all, Andra wasn't playing either, and she seemed to be doing okay.

Andra was standing with her back to him, her short pink hair poking out at all angles as she put the kettle on and then brought over a platter of cakes and biscuits.

"So, what happened?" he asked again, after taking a ginger biscuit.

"Well," she said, taking a cake herself. "After your accident, I lost my . . . motivation, I guess." She paused to take another bite, then continued. "I mean, I still enjoyed playing of course, but whenever I was supposed to hit a bludger toward someone, I would see your face and I just couldn't do it. Quidditch is fun, but it's not worth causing someone, even an opponent, permanent brain damage. So, I tried to get back in the spirit, but it became clear that I was only bringing the team down. So I quit. I've gone back to get my N.E.W.T equivalent for Potions so that I can become an Auror. I feel so much better about my life. I still fly, of course, and I practice Beating against dummies to keep up my strength, but I'll never go pro again."

The kettle began to chime, a jaunty tune that vaguely reminded Ron of George's joke shop. She brought over the tea and a bowl of sugar cubes, along with a small pitcher of cream. After pouring both cups of tea, she stirred one sugar and a small bit of cream into her own cup. "You're really lucky," she said, turning her head to one side.

"To be back?" Ron asked, then shrugged. "I guess."

"No, I mean, to have someone like Hermione Granger. You don't know how much I admire her. Like you, she's lost so much, but she's still so strong. Did you know she came up with three patents last year?"

Ron fidgeted. He hadn't even thought to ask Hermione about her work. He'd been quick to criticise her for not remembering that he'd want to know how the Magpies were doing, but had never thought to ask her about the things that mattered to her. And before he'd ended up in the hospital, they'd both vowed to work on their marriage. They'd have to work harder.

"And then," Andra was saying, still stirring her tea, "she created the Weasley Centre just because of you. It must have cost her a fortune. I contributed to it, but . . ." she looked down. "I just admire her. I know you've had your problems, but I also know you were planning to work things out." She reached her hand out to Ron, who took it. "I hope you do," she said, gazing into his eyes. "She's worth it, and you deserve to be happy."

He nodded, feeling his Adam's apple suddenly lurch in his throat. "So," he said, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes, and bringing a smile into his voice, "how are the Magpies doing? Surely you've been following them!"

"Of course I have!" Andra took a long drink of tea, then set it down with a clunk. "Without you and me, they've been struggling a bit." She smiled conspiratorily. "You and me, we were good."

"We were the best!" Ron agreed, taking a lusty drink of the tea.

He had another biscuit, then returned home, determined to make things up with Hermione.

: : :

"I've been a real git," Ron said, as soon as he got back.

"No, you haven't," Hermione said. "It's got to be such a shock coming back. Did you have a good time with -"

"Andra?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, she put things in perspective." Ron suddenly noticed all the food packages around the flat. "Did you get groceries?" he asked.

"I did. I remembered all your favourites," Hermione said.

"You're great!" Ron said, drawing her into a hug. She relaxed into it, but something still felt wrong. She rested her head on his shoulder trying to find the comfort she was looking for, then slowly they disengaged. _I've been spoiled._ She took a long look at Ron. _This is my life. This is what I want._

"Anyway, as I was saying, Andra put some things into perspective. She stopped playing, too. She decided it was too much of a risk to be a Beater."

"She was a Beater?" Hermione's eyes were large.

"Yeah, but after what happened to me, she couldn't do it anymore. She's going back to get her N.E.W.T equivalents so she can become an Auror. And she's happy," he said, smiling at Hermione. "She doesn't play anymore, but she's still happy!" He took a deep breath. "And she told me about all the things you did. I feel like such a git that I didn't ask. She told me about your patents and that you're the one who actually established the Weasley Centre. I didn't know. I didn't even think to ask. But I remember. I remember wanting us to get back together. I'm going to make it work. We're going to make it work, Hermione!"

It was the longest speech she thought she'd ever heard from Ron. But he was right. This was what it was all for. They were going to make it work.

: : :

The reunion with the rest of the Weasleys went about as Hermione expected. George was still trying to pull practical jokes on Ron, and he kept teasing him about having caught the Snitch. Molly refused to even look at Hermione, angry that she'd brought Ron back without saying anything. And the others fell within that continuum, except for Ginny, who'd arrived with Luna.

"Hermione," the red haired woman finally said after dinner. "I'm so sorry about Harry."

"I am, too, Ginny," Hermione said. "It still hurts, doesn't it? And he did it at the Department of Mysteries. If only I'd known . . ."

Ginny nodded.

"Don't blame yourself, Ginny," Hermione said. "Yes, he was upset about what happened between the two of you, but he's been wanting a family for a long time, and he didn't mean, at least, I don't think he actually meant to kill himself. He was just seduced by that bloody Veil."

"I know," Ginny whispered. "He left me a letter about it. But there's something else I wanted to talk to you about." She gestured toward their garden, which was bathed in moonlight. Everyone else was celebrating in the main room. Hermione followed Ginny into the garden.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," Ginny began, then took a deep breath. "When I started seeing Luna, everything just suddenly came into focus. It was like this great relief to finally be who I really am, instead of just Harry's groupie." She held out a hand to forestall an objection, although Hermione just wanted her to continue. "Oh, I don't think he ever wanted it to be that way, but as we continued to try for a family without success, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't really love him, as much as I was starstruck. And then, after the war, it just seemed to be the only thing to do, you know? Like everything was already decided - Voldemort was dead, so it was time to marry, just like in a fairytale. You and Ron, me and Harry, it just seemed to fit perfectly, as if it was all just meant to be like that." She paused again. "But I wasn't happy. Just feeling like things are meant to be isn't a good enough reason, Hermione. You have to be happy."

Hermione nodded, unsure where this was going. "I don't blame you for your choice," Hermione said, "and it seems like you thought it out."

"I didn't think it out at all," Ginny said, contradicting her. "I just suddenly _knew_. I'd thought I _had_ to be with Harry, because that's how the world had decided things, and then suddenly I saw that I didn't. And that's when I realized I was really only staying with him for the chance to have a family. When I saw that, I knew who I really loved."

"Well, as I was saying," Hermione tried again, "I don't blame you for anything."

"I know," Ginny said.

"So why are you telling me all this?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I'm happy to listen, of course, but I got the impression you wanted to tell me specifically."

"I guess . . . have you ever felt like that? Like you're just with Ron because that's how the cards fell out?"

Hermione took a deep breath. She had thought that, but she didn't want to think it. Not when things with Ron were so close to getting right. She tried to control herself.

"Because if you do, I want you to know that I'll stand behind you, Hermione. I mean, if you realize you don't really love him that way, or if you find out you really love someone else. I'll be there for you."

Hermione nodded, but then shook her head. "Things with Ron are fine," she said. "And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Everything just -"

"I know," Ginny said, "I _know_. After Harry, I wasn't surprised that you fell into your work the way you did. We all have our own ways to cope. I just wanted you to know that you'll have someone on your side if things go wrong with Ron. I love my brother, and I love you, but that doesn't mean you have to be stuck together if you're not happy."

Hermione nodded, not daring to speak. She hoped Ginny didn't think she was going to dump Ron for someone, and she hoped Ginny didn't have a similar conversation with Ron. She'd just gotten him back; she wasn't ready to think about losing him again. Even if things did feel wrong.


	11. A Game of Chess

Author's Note: I've made substantial changes to Chapter 4 and Chapter 10. And many apologies for the long wait on this chapter. I've been working out kinks in the character of Andra Vance. She's a lot more solid to me now, and I know I'll be able to use her for my nefarious ends much better now.

: : :

Chapter Eleven: A Game of Chess

_Dear Severus, or S. Sangfroid, as you prefer,_

_I hope that if we are not friends, we are at least not enemies. I've done my best to make up for anything I've done wrong, and I would at least like to continue a professional relationship. I hope that you will treat me just as you treat any other customer in your bar and not blame me for something you won't even let me make up for. As you know, I would love for us to be more like friends than patron and barkeep, but if I cannot have more than that, it will have to do._

_Respectfully,_

_H. Weasley_

: : :

_Dear Ronald Weasley:_

_1. e4 c5_

: : :

The next day, after the party at the Weasleys, Hermione had to go back to work. The Time-Turner project was still important, but at least she no longer had to look up ways to cure bludger illnesses. Ron still didn't seem to know what to do, but that was to be expected: his career had been literally bludgered out from under him. He hadn't really thought much about what he'd do if he didn't make it in the pros for Quidditch. And he'd only been back for two days. So, Hermione didn't blame him, but she could tell that he was bored and frustrated. He was planning to visit the rest of his old Quidditch team today, but after that, he wasn't sure what he would do, and he kept asking Hermione what she thought he should do.

"You need to think about it, Ron," she finally snapped. "I can't tell you what to do. You have to find out for yourself."

"But all I really care about is Quidditch . . ."

Hermione sighed, but didn't respond. There really wasn't anything she could say, and she was already running late for work. Besides, it wasn't like her own salary couldn't support them for awhile. He had time to make a decision.

The next three days went about the same.

She just couldn't seem to keep Ron entertained, and he kept wanting her to tell him what to do. He'd considered being an Auror, but even though the brain damage had been repaired, there were too many risks. And Hermione doubted he'd ever really wanted to be an Auror in the first place; she realized now that he just always did what Harry did, except when it came to Quidditch. Now, he was thinking of being a healer. _Like Andra_. He even briefly mentioned becoming an Unspeakable, but Hermione knew he would never want to do the research necessary, and when she told him that it was like hanging out in the library all the time, except with bigger deadlines, his eyes widened and he'd backed off from that suggestion.

: : :

"So, what about it?" Ron asked, after Hermione returned home on Friday, the third day she'd been at work since Ron had come home. "Weren't you going to take me to that Muggle pub?"

Hermione's gut twisted. She'd promised him, but hadn't counted on him actually taking her up on it. And after her last visit, she didn't know what Severus would think about her bringing _Ron_ of all people.

"By the way, you got a letter," Ron said. "It came Muggle post. Who is this fellow, Sangfroid?"

"As it so happens," Hermione said, opening the letter, "he's the barkeep at the pub I was telling you about. We were starting to become fr -"

The cold words on the paper bit into her mind, and she blinked back tears. "Well," she said, setting it down again. "I _thought_ we were becoming friends. I guess I was wrong." _He said he doesn't have friends. What does that mean?_ She turned her attention back to Ron. "I think maybe we'd better wait to go. I'll send him another letter."

After another full week of no response, the next Friday she spent trying to decide whether to go without a response. If Severus was going to serve them both inferior ale, so be it. She'd promised Ron she'd take him to the Blind Eye, and she would. Besides, she missed it. And maybe she could get Ron and Severus into a game of chess. Maybe if the two of them became friends, it would all work out, just as it had with her, Harry, and Ron. _But Severus isn't Harry. Can he and Ron really become friends? And why do I still feel that it's not about friendship, but something else?_ She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't abandon Ron now, when he'd just come back to her. Surely Severus understood that. _Of course he does. That's why he wants you out of his life._ She chewed on her lip. _Or is it? Maybe he's just sick of you._ Well, there was only one way to find out.

When she came home, she asked Ron if he had any plans.

"Well," Ron said, "tomorrow I'm meeting with the team to celebrate their latest victory, but tonight, no. Nothing's going on tonight."

"Then we're going," she said. "We're going to the Blind Eye, and I don't care what Samuel says."

Ron gave a noncommital shrug, and they left for the bar.

: : :

Severus did not know what to do about the letter Hermione had sent. He'd been sure that his blunt response to her overture of friendship would have squashed any desire she had to return to his pub. But now it seemed she wanted him to play chess with her husband. He would trounce the Weasley, but was that what she really wanted? No, she just wanted the three of them to be _friends_. It suddenly became all too clear. When had they started working together? After Potter had killed himself. Obviously, she really just wanted a replacement for Potter. It could be anyone; it just happened to be him.

Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley was a different problem entirely. If he could count on the former Miss Granger to keep his identity secret, he had no doubt that Weasley would want to publicize it. Trying so hard to stand out from his brothers, he never had been able to conceive how anyone might want a little privacy. And Severus still did not know whether Potter had told both of his friends about the memories or just the current Mrs. Weasley. If Weasley did not know the reasons for his actions, heck, even if he did know the reasons, he could be an actual danger. And _she_ was threatening to bring him to his bar . . . to play chess.

He slammed his hand on the bar, and Alfred jumped. It was just too damn difficult to think of her as anything other than Hermione.

"It's about that woman, isn't it?" Alfred asked, preparing him a glass of firewhisky. "The one who drank this."

Yes, the only witch to frequent this very Muggle bar. Severus gave a curt nod, and drank the firewhisky in one gulp.

"I thought so. She hasn't been back for some time, and she used to be here every night."

Severus could hardly explain that they'd been brewing a potion to restore her husband, and that now that said husband was back, she had no reason for further dalliance with him. He just lifted a shoulder and began to clean the glass he'd just emptied.

"She really cares for you, you know."

Severus levelled his best glare at Alfred, but the man did not seem fazed. "I know," he finally admitted. That was the problem. She cared, but she couldn't afford to care, not for someone like him. _I do not have friends_, he'd written to her, and it was true. He had loves and enemies. He didn't have friends. But Hermione could never have understood that. And she expected him to just fit nicely into her life, a friend of hers and Weasley's. Someone to play chess with her husband and talk to her when things got difficult. She cared, yes, but not the way he cared. Lily had been like that, too. For him, it was all or nothing, and since he couldn't have it all, he pushed it all away. He'd have nothing. If only she would let him.

Unfortunately, the next Friday revealed that she would not let him have nothing. She and her newly restored husband waltzed into the bar as if they owned it. Severus knew that wasn't true; he could see the tension in her shoulders, the anxiety in her eyes. _Probably worried I'd give her bad beer again,_ he lied to himself. As if he could give her bad beer and draw additional suspicion toward himself. He had to keep Weasley convinced that he was just a Muggle barkeep. If Weasley suspected anything else . . . she hadn't told him, had she?

He stood at their side, silent as always, as they seated themselves at a table. Not _her_ table, of course; he'd made sure it was always occupied now. He didn't need the reminder that she was gone.

: : :

Hermione hadn't realized how different things would be, coming with Ron. Severus - no, Samuel, she corrected herself - stood deferentially at their table awaiting their order, and Hermione realized she had to pretend that they just barely knew each other. There was no way she could act around him the way she did with Severus, not without giving away his identity . . . and despite Harry's words at Voldemort's demise, Ron had always thought Severus should pay for the crimes he _had_ committed. It was excruciating to be this close and not be able to act as friends; she suddenly understood why he didn't want to try to be "friends" in her old life. He was acting just as he had all those months and years she'd come before that fateful day when she learned who he really was. But now, it felt wrong; it felt fake. She had to make things move faster. She had to get him and Ron to be true friends, the way he and she were, and then . . . but she knew it wouldn't work. Not really. Because she couldn't tell Ron, at least not yet, that he was Severus Snape. So there'd always be this distance of Samuel. She realized she didn't want Samuel; she wanted Severus.

"I'll have what I had last time," she said, casting her eyes down. She understood now what she was doing. Ordering bad beer seemed like the best she could do, at least until Ron and Samuel became friends, and even then, it wouldn't be enough.

Samuel nodded, then disappeared.

"Wait!" Ron called after him. "I heard you play chess."

Again Samuel nodded.

"Would you care for a game?"

He gave another curt nod, then finally spoke. "I play by correspondence. Send me your first move, and I'll reply by post."

"You want to be black?"

"You're my guest; it seems only right."

"Thank you," Ron said, clearly surprised.

"Besides," Samuel replied, "You know, or can find out, the address of the bar. Then, when I respond, I can just use your return address."

"True," said Ron, thoughtfully. "If I win, though, we'll switch, right?"

"Of course." Samuel quirked his lip, and Hermione's heart fluttered. It was such a _Snape_ expression. She dared not look at Ron, but hoped desperately he hadn't made the connection.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice. Samuel left and returned a few moments later with two beers, the kind Hermione used to drink and the kind she and Harry had had the day he'd told her about Ginny's decision.

Ginny. Now that had been an unexpected conversation. Was Hermione really just with Ron because it seemed to fit in such a storybook pattern? And if so, did she really want him? Her eyes strayed to Samuel, who was back behind the bar. No. She couldn't abandon Ron now. _Tell it to yourself often enough, and maybe you'll believe it._

Ron had just been telling her he was going to visit Andra again. "So, I think I'll do that tomorrow," he finished.

Andra. A part of Hermione knew she should be jealous, but all she felt was relief. Relief that it would be someone else he'd have to pester about his next career choice. He said she wasn't playing Quidditch anymore - maybe he could do whatever she was doing. "Well, that sounds good," she said. "I'm glad you're spending time with her and the rest of your old team."

He nodded, finished his beer, and the two of them returned to the flat. Ron sat down immediately, wrote a move down on paper, and addressed it to Samuel Sangfroid. Then, they both headed to bed, but they didn't have sex. They hadn't had sex since before the bludger incident. And as Hermione lay in bed, she remembered Severus' arms around her, and she knew she had to find a way to change her life.


	12. An Unfinished Game and an Abandoned Pub

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and commented. I'm working steadily and slowly, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: An Unfinished Game and an Abandoned Pub

_R. Weasley v. S. Sangfroid_

_1. e4 c5_

_2. Nf3 d6_

_3. d4 cxd4_

_4. Nxd4 Nf6_

_5. Nc3 g6_

_6. Be3 . . . _

_I know who you are._

* * *

Severus opened and refolded the sheet. So. Ron knew. It was really only a matter of time. Severus knew he should not have expected Hermione to keep his identity from her husband, but he'd harboured a secret hope that she would. But no, she obviously felt that the best way to make sure they could all be _friends_ was to make sure there were no secrets among them.

Severus flung the letter into his hearth and watched it burn. Then, he began packing his few meagre possessions. Ron, he knew, could not be trusted, no matter what the naïve Mrs. Weasley might think.

* * *

Ron was bored. He took a pencil and quickly scribbled a possible move to Samuel's game. He'd look at it again later, but he was pretty sure the South Slavic attack was the best way to deal with Samuel's Dragon. The game, at least, was interesting. Samuel's choice of the Dragon Variation of the Sicilian Defence could cause Ron problems if he wasn't careful. He wasn't really surprised, though: the man had chosen to play Black, which suggested he knew how best to take advantage of that side.

But now that he'd made a tentative move, he wanted to wait and come back to it, which meant he didn't know what to do with himself. Hermione was at work, and he still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He knew Hermione wouldn't mind taking care of the finances, but he wasn't about to become some kind of house-husband with nothing to do besides add a move here or there to a game with a Muggle barman.

He began to stare at the board set up in front of him. It was weird playing with Wizard's Chess pieces in a Muggle game, since of course, Ron had to direct both sides. They'd argued with him, saying he couldn't possibly play the game properly against himself, but when he showed them the paper (what a crude replacement for parchment - although he had to admit that the temporary quality of pencil was preferable to the permanent nature of ink), they rolled their eyes and performed the moves as directed. As he continued to stare, a movement in the fireplace caught his eye. A moment later, George's face appeared in green flames.

"Oi, dear brother Ronnikins!" George shouted. "Mind if I stop by?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron said. "But don't you need to be at the shop?"

George came through and dusted himself off. "As it happens, dear brother, I am here because of the shop."

Ron headed to the kitchen and put a kettle on. "Want some tea?"

"Sure," said George, "but I can't stay too long."

As soon as the water was ready, Ron poured two cups and set them on the table with a plate of biscuits that Hermione had bought. He began eating one and watched as George sniffed at the tea.

"So," George began. "As you probably know, the shop has been doing poorly. I was able to recover somewhat after Fred's death, but it's just lost some if its magic and the patrons can tell. I don't think I can just infuse more joy into it, but I thought: hey, I've got a little brother who's out of work." He took a drink of tea. "I've come to offer you a partnership in my venture - a kind of Fred the Second, if you will."

"You want me to help you with the shop?"

George just nodded and ate a biscuit.

Ron considered. It didn't take long. It would certainly be more interesting than sitting at home all the time, and he'd always envied the fun Fred and George had always had with their pranks. Being a part of that - it would be really cool! He stuffed another biscuit in his mouth and stood up.

"I'm in," he said after swallowing.

George slapped him on the back. "I knew I could count on you! Thank you, dearest younger brother!"

When they got back to the shop, George led him to the back room. "All right," he said, pointing to some boxes. "We just got our first shipment of Venom's End products. They're mostly sold in Knockturn Alley because they counteract a lot of the charms and potions used by Magical Law Enforcement." Ron thought briefly of Andra, but kept his mouth shut. "The line also has a number of useful antidotes, which can be used with other ingredients to create better versions of our skiving potions for Hogwarts students. The Potioneer, Samuel Sangfroid, is particular adept at -"

George broke off and gave Ron a hard look. "What?" George asked.

Ron hadn't realized his reaction had been so obvious, but he took advantage of it by blurting out, "Did you just say 'Samuel Sangfroid'?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I know him," Ron said. "Or, at least, I know someone with the same name. But he's a Muggle barman . . . "

Ron thought back about what he knew of his chess opponent: he was good at chess, he was a friend of Hermione's, Hermione had used a Dark _potion_ to cure Ron of his brain damage, and Samuel was living as a Muggle barman not too far from Diagon Alley. And now there was someone with the same name who happened to be excellent at Potions? There was only one man who could possibly fit that description, even if the man he was considering was supposedly dead. But there was the matter of the manner of death. Ron cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course a Potions instructor like Snape could have had an antidote for the snake's venom! And now he had a label called Venom's End? It was just as much a pun as the Half-Blood Prince!

George interrupted Ron's deductions. "Probably two different blokes, then," George remarked, and Ron nodded. He'd keep his information to himself for now. He had to figure out whether Hermione knew. She had to. It must have been Samuel - _No, Snape!_ Ron sneered to himself - who had helped Hermione with the potion. So, he wouldn't tell Hermione he knew just yet. He'd talk to Andra about it, and see what she said. Then he could figure out how to bring it up to Hermione. Maybe Andra would have some advice to convince Hermione that Snape needed to be held accountable for his crimes, even if he was on the side of good in the end. Hermione had to understand that Snape was no longer their respected teacher - he was a murderer! But Ron didn't want to just barge in and tell her that. He'd put his foot in his mouth too much, so he needed some advice on how to approach it. Besides, Hermione could be scary if you got on her bad side.

There was another reason to talk to Andra. She was in Magical Law Enforcement and working on her Potions to be an Auror. If she brought Snape in, it might help move the process along.

"Right, then," George was saying as he finally got all the boxes open. "Let's start unpacking these!"

* * *

_On a gloomy street, on a gloomy dawn, a grey cloaked man left a pub in London. As he left, he fixed a plain, white sign with crude letters in the middle of the window._ _Then he walked away, never looking back, with a small parcel over his left shoulder. Rain fell silently, and soon the man disappeared from view._

_The sign on the door read: _

_The Blind Eye Pub_

_Closed Indefinitely._

_Seek your cheer elsewhere._

_S. Sangfroid, proprietor._


	13. Lost Before the Dawn

Chapter Thirteen: Lost Before the Dawn

Hermione frowned at the clock on the wall. It was past midnight, and Ron still hadn't returned. There was a note indicating he might have a job opportunity with George, and the chess move list had disappeared. He must have sent it back to Severus. But where was he now? i_Probably with Andra._/i Finally, the relief had turned to resentment. It was after midnight. He should be home with her, not out with his old Quidditch buddies.

Well, two could play at that game, and it was time and gone that she should have talked to Severus. She grabbed a coat and Apparated to Diagon Alley, then walked the few blocks to the Blind Eye.

The note on the door drew her attention, and after reading it, she read it again and again. It couldn't be. There was no reason he should have left his tavern. She looked around, but could see nothing. Sighing, she walked down the street, hoping for some clue about where Severus had gone. As she walked, it began to rain, but she didn't bother doing anything about it. It fit the mood she was in. She wasn't ready to go back to her flat. She wasn't ready to sit around waiting for Ron again. And even if he was there, he'd just want her to solve all his problems. Then again, he'd left that message about the shop. Maybe he really was going to work there.

Hermione shook her head. He'd be perfect there, just as she was perfect at the Ministry of Magic, but nothing was getting better. He wasn't a Quidditch star anymore, but he still ignored her, and he still didn't value her work or her advice. He was always out with Andra. She'd tried to understand his perspective, but she was having troubles with it. It just wasn't working. They were too different. She let her shoulders slump, and ignored the rain and the scent of rain, which normally relaxed her, just made her feel more gloomy.

She found her way back to Diagon Alley. She'd finished the last step in her project on Time, but she'd found a blockage. She'd wanted to ask Severus about it, but had waited too long. Now he was gone.

She wandered past the closed and empty shops. Here, there was no rain. The magical marketplace was protected as all the owners of all the businesses went in on spells to keep patrons from discomfort. It felt wrong to her. Everything felt wrong to her. The only shops that were open were those in Knockturn Alley. She looked down, but didn't enter. Making a dark potion to save Ron's mind was one thing. Visiting Knockturn Alley was another.

Hermione turned away from Knockturn Alley and continued her wandering. She still wasn't ready to go home. She was realizing that she didn't love Ron, not the way a wife was supposed to love a husband. It was all wrong. They should never have gotten married. She understood that now. When she had cried over him, during her conversation with Harry, it had been over the loss of her friend. Marriage had ruined their friendship. That's what was wrong. She knew it now, but didn't know what to do about it. They'd never been meant to have a romantic relationship, but they'd fallen into it, maybe been pushed into it, and now they had nothing left. Ron was no longer the man who made her laugh. He just irritated her. No, if she was going to be honest . . . She passed by the entry to Knockturn Alley again . . . if she was going to be honest, it was Severus, Severus Snape, that made her yearn. If she'd never met him, maybe she would be able to continue this farce with Ron. But now she knew something different, she knew that she wasn't the only one in the world who valued the mind.

All this time, she'd thought she was some kind of freak for loving learning. Everyone had always mocked her for her intellectual ambitions, especially Ron. But talking with Severus was different. He listened to her theories and he was able to respond! In equal depth! She didn't have to explain every detail only to hear, "Oh. I don't understand why that's so important though. Wouldn't you rather be doing something else?" She paused, letting the tears build in her eyes. He was gone. She hadn't had a chance to let him know.

As she paused, she realized she was still standing in front of Knockturn Alley. It couldn't hurt to look, could it? With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she entered. Past midnight, the street was just as crowded as Harry had said it was the day he'd accidentally ended up there. She pushed the thought of Harry away, and tried not to let further tears well up. She'd lost Harry through death and Ron through marriage. She didn't have any real friends left. Well, there was Ginny . . .

Hermione made a mental note to speak with Ginny tomorrow. It was too late to talk to her tonight, but tomorrow . . . Ginny had said some things that resonated with her. She was sure the other woman would understand about Ron. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Ginny about Severus, though, at least not directly. Besides, she wasn't sure Severus wanted anyone knowing he was alive.

Her eye wandered to an awning showing a cauldron and a mortar and pestle. Hermione couldn't help herself, and soon, she was standing before the door. She hesitated only a moment-surely, this was a store for Dark potions-then entered. She didn't have to buy anything.

It was a potionmaker's dream store, and all it did was remind Hermione of Severus. She looked around at all the supplies, and had to gasp at the price of a cast iron cauldron. The owner of the shop appeared shortly after her gasp and explained that the cauldron was dusted in graveyard dust, which had been taken from the grave of a murder victim. Hermione did not understand the significance of that, and headed into the back room, which held all the potions. She had no intention of buying any for herself until she saw the line Venom's End. She'd remembered seeing potions by that company in Severus' apartment [PUT THAT IN EARLIER]. If Severus had them, maybe they weren't all bad. She spent some time looking through the names of the potions. Most of them were innocuous-stronger variations of the usual potions. Her eye settled on one to help with sleep. She could use that. She'd been getting less and less sleep, and tonight was no exception in how late she'd been staying up. Knowing that Severus, too, trusted the brand made up her mind. She checked the price and, finding she had enough money, she took it to the man at the counter.

"Funny you are buying that," the wizard said. "I just received notice today that all supplies from Venom's End would be cancelled. The Potioneer said he was leaving the potion-making business."

Hermione's eyebrows raised. Was she actually buying one of Severus' potions? "Well," she said, "then I'm glad to be getting this before it's gone." She thought of the price again, and added, "Actually, I'll take the others as well, if you don't mind. If they're going to be gone, I want to get them before they run out."

The shop owner set five more vials on the counter, and Hermione paid for them. Now she was sure of it. The Potioneer of Venom's End had to be Severus. He'd closed his pub and stopped selling his potions. Why?

Hermione thought back to her thoughts about Ginny, and how she'd decided that even though she'd talk about Ron, Severus wouldn't want anyone to know he was alive. Could that be it? Could someone have learned that he was alive?

"Do you know the name of the Potioneer?" she asked the shop owner.

He rifled through some papers and then looked up at her. "Samuel Sangfroid," he said.

Hermione nodded, satisfied. She felt good having provided him with some of her income, even if she couldn't see him. She left the shop and Apparated back home. She would talk to Ginny tomorrow.

"It's nothing she actually says," Ron said, his head leaning up against Andra's thigh, as they lounged on the floor. "It's how she says it. It's like she's got this big plan, and I'm just too stupid to see it."

Andra said nothing, but just tousled his hair. He'd been on the same theme all night, clearly working up to something. She'd plied him with firewhisky, and now he was beginning to loosen up some. She couldn't help it. She was attracted to him. She wanted him to trust her. Even if he was married, even if they couldn't be together . . . She squelched the feeling rising in her. Even if they couldn't be together, they could be friends. She tasted the word in her mind. Yes, friends. Best friends. She let a smile crawl across her face and played some more with his hair. It was so red, it looked like copper in the candlelight.

"But she's the one who screwed up the stupid plan," Ron said, pounding his fist on her carpet, and looking sheepish that it hadn't made a sound.

That was what drew her to him, Andra realized. His simplicity, the way he just assumed everything would work out. "How did she screw it up?" Andra asked, expecting more on the "she just doesn't appreciate me" theme.

"Snape," he slurred around his firewhisky. "She got together with Snape. S'how I'm not a vegetable anymore, you know? They got together and whisked up a Dark potion to bring my mind back."

Andra leaned back, as if a cold blast of wind had hit her. It couldn't be. She heard her voice go cold, saw her hand halt its progress through Ron's hair. "Not, that is, you don't mean our old professor, do you?"

"Hey," Ron said, then had a hiccup, "got anymore o'that firewhisky?"

Andra patted his chin. "I think you've had enough for now. Maybe later."

"Yeah," he said grinning.

"But what we're you saying about Snape?"

"Not dead. Sam-Sam, well, sangersumming. S-selling potions. Venom's End. Pub, Muggle pub. He and 'ermione, potion. Made me alright in the head. I'm okay now, but . . . hurt. Hurt a lot."

"Wait. Are you saying that he and Hermione created a Dark potion that brought you out of that Bludger-induced brain trauma?" Andra wasn't sure whether to be infuriated or relieved. Ron was himself now. They wouldn't have been having this conversation if Hermione hadn't done what she did. But it was Dark. Who knew what side effects it might cause? And who knew what damage had already been done? Hermione might think she was smart enough to keep it all on the positive, but this was Snape. Andra's skin went cold again. Snape. The man who'd killed her mother. And now they were fucking with Ron. No. Not on her watch.

"Yeah. What do you think I've been saying all this time?" Ron asked.

He leaned against her. She thought for a moment, then pushed back. She wasn't going to sleep with a married man. And he was intoxicated now, she'd gotten what she wanted. He wasn't going to be able to give her any more coherent responses. She put her hand on his shoulder. "It's time you left, I think," she said. "I think you had a touch too much of the firewhisky. Besides-" She glanced at the clock. "Hermione will be wondering where you are."

Another shiver ran up her spine, but she didn't heed it. Hermione hadn't done anything to Ron yet, and there was no indication she was actually going evil. The potion was worrisome, but Snape could have talked her into it. Snape was a lying, selfish snake, and Hermione could be as much a victim as Ron was. Still, she felt uneasy letting Ron casually Floo back to his wife. Part of it she knew was jealousy. But part was honest concern. The woman hadn't thought twice about using a Dark potion, not knowing what other consequences it might entail. As much as Andra wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, part of her was still suspicious. She would let Ron go, but she would be watching.

"'Ermione, yeah," Ron said, then collapsed against the couch.


End file.
